Serpent's Heart
by xFadingMoonx
Summary: Riverdale breeds mystery, betrayal and pain, but it's those close to you that get you through the darkness. Set immediately after Season 1, we delve further into the life of Betty and Jughead to learn the truth behind the masks and just how far someone will go, to protect the ones they love. (Bughead)
1. 1 - Jughead

**Chp. 1 - Jughead.**

"Riverdale must do better, we must do better."

Easier said than done. We were living in a town swallowed in darkness, sin and secrets up to our paled faces. It was a good speech and marked the start of the revolution, but I still felt empty and cold inside. Still, I always up until recently, had felt empty and cold inside.

Shutting the trailer door behind me and nodding the Serpent's farewell, I careful hooked my new jacket over the crooked coat stand in the corner. I could feel Betty's eyes boring into me like molten lava. I inwardly sighed, not having the juice to face another argument about right and wrong, not right now.

"I know what you're going to say." I sighed, moving closer to her hunched frame in the tiny kitchen. She looked at the jacket and bit her lip, eyes moving back to me.

"I'm sure you do," she murmured. "But I'm too tired to fight. It's been a long day, long week, long few months." The worried frown disappeared on her face and she lit up into a sweet smile. "I don't want to waste any more time fighting, worrying about everyone else." She uncurled her arms and approached, dropping the shirt she'd been clutching onto for dear life as I answered the door a few minutes ago.

"Betty.." I began, interrupted by the sweet kiss she planted on my waiting lips. As all of our intimate moments, I burned it into my memory and let myself fall into the present, the world ebbing away around us. Betty tugged on the bottom of my grey shirt which I pulled off once again and tossed over the sink. Her hands found their way to my hair, fingertips playing through the scalp, I felt so weird to take off my beanie – I felt naked somehow, but it felt right. It felt so right to have her hands all over me as mine were on hers.

I was aware our breathing was becoming heavier and rugged as our two damaged hearts beat along together in sync. I pulled her towards my small bedroom towards the back of the trailer as more of our clothing fell off along the route until we were both literally on the precipice of taking the next stage in our relationship. My heart now thudded for an entirely different reason and the urge to run away was very strong.

Betty pulled the dusty curtains across the windows so that we were plunged into mid darkness. I couldn't help but take in every inch of her perfect figure, not that it mattered to me. I wanted this amazing girl for a very different reason than most other guys would.

She turned back to me, face flushed from our intense making out session and I imagine, embarrassment at the situation. She took my hands in her little dainty ones, staring deep inside me, searching for the inner-Jughead that she so knew and loved.

"I love you." I said. It was still exhilarating on my lips, I was riding on a high that I never even knew I possessed.

"I love you too," she whispered, hands running up my bare chest until I shivered, "Is this right?" She indicated towards our current situation.

"It's up to you," I smiled crookedly. Something I only ever reserved for my girl. "Whatever you choose, Betty. It's okay."

She smirked, kissing the nape of my neck slowly and hands reaching for my hair once again. Fuelled entirely on instinct, I picked her up and met her lips hungrily, passionately. We so needed this after all of the crap we'd waded through since Riverdale became Jason's personal murder mystery extravaganza. I could feel both of us, kindred spirits almost merging into one form as we tumbled onto my bed and slipped off what little clothing we had left. Every moment was electrifying, terrifying, satisfying and felt right. A perfect memory for both of us.

It was Betty that woke up first thing the next morning. Her mother had called, wondering where she'd been all night.

"At Veronica's," Betty replied automatically, sitting up and pulling the covers around her. "Mrs Lodge is making pancakes soon." It was unspoken law that Betty and Veronica were honour bound to cover each other in all situations, no questions asked and no explanations expected. Alice Cooper seemed to find it a suitable excuse as she asked Betty to come home soon and disconnected. Betty placed her phone back on the old rickety table next to the bed and stretched her arms up to the ceiling, the covers fell away to reveal all.

"Betty Cooper." I muttered, smiling. She jumped, clearly not realising I'd been awake for hours watching her sleep. She scrabbled for the covers and blushed madly, sinking back down into the bed, which now felt like a very welcome and warm home for me.

"I've seen you naked, I'm pretty sure I'm equipped to handle it." I reminded her gently, arms twisting around her small form so we were spooning.

"I could hardly tell my mother that I was currently laying naked in bed with the infamous Jughead Jones could I?" She rolled her eyes, I kissed her shoulders.

"No, she'd have a cardiac arrest knowing that I deflowered her precious little Betty. Last night was amazing by the way." She turned in my arms to face me and wound her arms around my neck. I'd only just realised we were both completely naked still but there was no point in being shy now. We had shared all of our secrets with each other, knew one another inside out.

I closed my eyes, still exhausted from the long night's activities. She kissed my eyelids, moving onto my temples and forehead.

"I love you Jughead Jones."

I smiled. "I love you more, Betty Cooper." I met her eyes, melting into them and the memories of last night flooded back in almost an instant, sending my heart beat racing and eyes smouldering.

"Round 2?" I said softly, nuzzling her collar bone and kissing a trail up her petite neck. I smirked as she tried to wriggle away and resist until I nibbled on her ear lobe and suddenly she was in the mood again.

It was a Saturday, so we opted to stay in bed for a long as possible before deciding to venture back into the land of the living once again and leaving our perfect little bubble. Dad had paid off the trailer long ago when Mom and Jellybean were still living with us, so technically the trailer was now mine and Betty's to escape to whenever we felt the world was getting too difficult. I made a mental note to get a key cut for her.

Our hands met automatically as were wandered across the near silent trailer park toward the entrance. For the South Side border, the park itself was in a pretty good shape and I didn't have any trouble with any of the kids living nearby. It was a shame they didn't go to my school.

With a heartfelt pang, I realised that I was now an official student of South Side High. A school for troubled teenagers, delinquents and shady characters. I was now one of those faceless kids stuck inside the social care system; a mother who I was seriously questioning if she even wanted me and a father facing a pretty long vacation from fatherhood.

"Juggie," Betty said quietly. I already knew from the tone of her voice what she was going to approach before she even uttered the words; "We need to talk about last night."

"Oh god," I groaned. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. Not with _that._ I loved every moment." She smiled wholeheartedly. "I mean you. The Serpent's. The jacket."

"I wasn't expecting that," I said truthfully. "Dad said that they look after their own, but inviting me to join?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"Well surely you aren't seriously considering it?"

"I don't even know how I'm going to get through each _day_ at the moment, Betty. Let alone what I'm going to tell the snakes." Truth be told, I imagined I would have a lot easier of a time living on the South Side and running with the gang, where I knew deep down I belonged. With other outcasts living on the edge of society and rules. Of course I knew better to voice my opinion to Betty before even having a chance to consider all possibilities and form a confident argument.

"What do you want to do today?" She changed the subject.

"I'm thinking Pops, celebratory milkshakes and hamburgers. In whatever order you want. Oh, and another steamy night in our trailer would really make my weekend." I winked.

"Our trailer?" Her eyebrows raised. "Juggie, did you just ask me to move in with you?"

"Not officially I'm afraid. But we can spend our time there together, away from everyone else. I like it when it's just the two of us."

She nodded. "Me too. I love Archie and Veronica but there's something special about being alone with you."

When Betty said things like that, it never failed to give me a glimpse of hope for a happy future inside my dark hard centre. I was so used to pushing people away that it felt alien to be allowed to be this close to another human being. Jellybean was different, sibling rivalry and pranks were always our thing but at the end of the day, she was just as guilty as Mom for not bothering to check in with me.

"Are you okay with the whole Archie and Veronica thing?"

She frowned. "Yes, of course. As I said, I'm with you."

"Would you be bothered if we weren't together, if you were single?" Did I even want an answer to this question? Betty furrowed her brows and gave me a suspicious side eye.

"Archie and I were never a _thing_. Whatever I felt for him beyond a friend is gone now."

"Just like that? Gone?"

It was her turn to shrug. "Yes, I guess so. I don't feel anything more than pride when he sings, or when we're together or even alone," she squeezed my fingers gently. "Don't worry Jug – you aren't my scapegoat. This is real, you and me." 

"I want it to be, Bets."

We stopped walking through the tall grass and stopped at the broken 'Cherub Trailer Park' splintered sign. She took both my hands and pulled me closer, forcing me to look her dead in the eyes.

"What's wrong, Jug?" 

I rolled my eyes. "How much time you got?" She wasn't amused. I was uncomfortable, not yet used to displaying or explaining how I feel to another life form.

"You – Betty Cooper – are with me. The kid from the wrong side of the tracks, messed up family and baggage as long as the eye can see! I hope it's real, us."

"Endgame?" She smiled, extending her pinky finger. I shook it with my own and we continued walking through the quiet back roads and farm tracks towards her side of town.

I inhaled deeply. The world hadn't smelled this fresh in a very long time and I struggled to recall my last happy memory before Betty. The trees swayed above softly in the sunny winter breeze and the air was crisp with melting frost from the night before. It hadn't occurred to me then why these normally active back roads were so quiet for early lunch time.

The area was dubbed 'midway' for sitting on the infamous border between north and south. Living on the midway itself I felt suited me more than I cared to let on. I was in the middle and neither belonged with Betty and the perfect little houses or slumming it with the Serpents and the grunge of society. Thankfully I spent my time at Pop's, which also sat just before you hit the border. We rounded the last tree lined road until we stopped dead in our tracks at the sight before us.

Pop's neon lights shone dimly against the midday sun, adorned by the lights of several ambulances and police vehicles around the building. A perimeter had been set up with yellow tape and a couple of police were trying to shepherd anxious bystanders away. The frantic gossip carried across the wind from hushed voices about the latest town event.

"What the hell?" I muttered and grabbed Betty's hand to lead her towards the scene. Together we fought to get through to the front of the small gathering and were met with Kevin's dad. As soon as he caught sight of me, the corners of his mouth turned down and he placed his hands on his hips.

"Jughead, Betty."

"What happened?" She muttered, looking frantically toward the windows.

The Sheriff scowled. "Terrible incident, surprised you haven't heard?" His eyes scanned me suspiciously as if waiting for some kind of confession. My knuckles clenched, I was not my Dad.

"We haven't," I frowned. "Is Pop okay?"

"He's okay. Shaken actually." Sherriff Keller stopped. "You guys heard from your friend, Archie?" 

Betty and I glanced sideways at each other, mirroring confusion. I pulled my phone out from my back pocket and scanned for any signs of contact from my red-headed best friend.

"Haven't heard from him since last night," I put the phone away and nodded towards the establishment. "We were all here last night actually and went our separate ways about midnight. Why do you ask?" 

I didn't miss the wave of inner turmoil on Keller's face as he seemed to be wrestling with some inner strain of thought. With a quick glance towards his deputy, he gestured for us to follow him round to the back of the building where the staff entrance was also covered in tape. Another quick look around to check that he hadn't been followed.

"I'm only telling you both this because you're Archie's best friends and I'm damn sure he needs the company and support right now," he muttered gruffly and paused. "Archie was in here with his Dad this morning and.. Something happened." 

"What?" Betty pressed. I could feel her hand dig into mine sub consciously as her fingernails sought to do their usual stress self-mutilation. I ignored the slight pinching and blocked out the sound of my racing heart.

Keller looked genuinely stressed, continuously looking backwards and forwards as he released this information to us. "Fred Andrews is dead. He was shot by an unknown assailant. I'm sorry." 

It was definitely one of those moments where the world stood still and all sound and feeling disappeared from around us. I focussed so hard on trying to move my mouth and find any words to reply to him, but nothing tumbled out. My heartbeat was loud in my ear drums that I could barely understand what was being said to us.

Breaking away from Betty, my hands found their way to my face and I held my head in anguish. Fred wasn't perfect by all means but he was a great man and stuck his neck out for his son's skinny emo friend when the world turned its back on me. I could see that Keller half regretted his decision to reveal such sordid details to us but it didn't matter and the damage was done. Betty's arms wrapped around me and nodded in agreement when Keller suggested we get home as soon as possible and await further details. She managed to pull me away from the back of the diner and veered away from the main street and everyone else.

"We need to get to Arch, Jug." She half sobbed. "Oh my god." 

"H-How? Why?" I whispered and scrabbled around for my phone, struggling to find Archie in my contacts and tapped the call icon.

As expected, it rang for a long while before shooting to voicemail. "Arch, it's Jug. We've just heard. Give me a call." 

"Oh god, do you think he saw it happen?" Betty looked at me in sheer horror, tears streaming down her cheeks. I hated to see her cry and it broke my heart into a million pieces every time. But there would be no easy words and comfort that would get her through this ordeal any easier than I. More importantly, my best friend's life has imploded around his own shoulders today and everything he'd ever known and loved had just been ripped away from him. This was not how I envisioned Betty and I to spend our first day in the next stage of a serious relationship, but this is what we were given and Riverdale was not much of a giver.


	2. 2 - Betty

**Chp. 2 – Betty.**

"Betty, are you okay?" My mother appeared around the side of my door and peered through the dim light of the lamp towards my huddled form on the bed. I wiped away the tears from my tired, raw eyes and nodded. I caught a glimpse of Archie's window opposite my own, pitched in darkness to match the rest of the house. I hadn't seen or heard from him all day.

"Fred didn't deserve that ending." Mom paced around to the window and folded her arms, staring out into the night. Even in the dim glow of the light, I noticed that she was not so nearly as clean cut as normal. I heard her and Dad arguing downstairs earlier.

I shook my head, defeated. "Who would do such a thing?" I couldn't believe it was all happening again. It was like the whole town fell through a wormhole last night while Jughead and I were in our own little heaven and we were back to six months ago to Jason's murder.

"Oh sweetheart," she sighed and sank down to side beside me on the bed. She brushed the hair away from my red face and shook her own slowly. "I don't know. But Riverdale is at a crossroads – just like you said."

"Perhaps that the future of this town, to be swallowed up." I muttered and pulled my hair up into a tight ponytail, moving away from her. I pulled on an old pair of jeans and Jughead's old jumper he let me sleep with.

"Where are you going?"

"To look for Archie, Mom. I'm worried."

She rose up, hands on her hips. "Betty, as much as you care about that boy, it isn't the right time now."

"What am I supposed to do then?" I threw my hands up into the air, tears streaming down my cheeks. "My best friend's father has just been murdered. Possibly even in front of him!"

"The best thing that you can do right now," she began. "Is stay exactly where you are. Archie will be with the police right now. He knows where you are and when he wants to talk I'm sure he'll seek you out."

I breathed in deeply, knowing in the pit of my stomach that I knew she was right and it wouldn't be helpful for me to simply force my way into the police station to see him. Mom could see I was completely defeated and she relaxed her authoritative voice and stepped forwards, rubbing both my shoulders.

"We need to be careful Betty," she whispered. "It's getting real in this town. Your father and I want you and Polly to lie low – _especially_ you, after writing the article about Jughead's father."

"Wow, are you actually bringing that up now?"

"No, although you know my feelings on your brash acts," she scowled. "I'm going to repeat to you what I said before; these people are angry and always looking for someone to direct their anger against. Hatred infuses the masses." 

"I want to spread the truth," I said defiantly. "No one is escaping the truth in this town." 

"Get some sleep Betty." Mom patted my shoulders one last time and left me alone again once more. I exhaled angrily and climbed up onto the windowsill, peering through the glass at the house next door to look at any signs of movement, knowing deep down there would be none tonight. Archie's curtains were still open with moonlight spilling into his room and illuminating his bed, TV and prized guitar in the corner.

I picked up my phone and dropped Veronica the seventh text of the evening alone; _Ronnie, where are you? Need to talk xx_

Not knowing what to do with myself, I curled back up into a ball on the bed and inhaled the sweet scent of Jughead on the jumper. My heart beat softly as just 24 hours before, we were both together in his trailer. I smiled inwardly at the memory and thought about how soft his lips were on my face, my neck, my shoulders.

I'm in love with Jughead, I thought. Seriously head over heels in love. I wondered if this was the same feeling that Polly felt, when she and Jason were planning to run away together and get away from this cursed town. I wished that they were successful and had found themselves a quiet cottage in the countryside to bring up their twins. Jason would still be alive and FP would still be living freely in his trailer.

Thinking of what ifs was driving me crazy, but at some point I must have fallen asleep and succumbed to my absolute exhaustion that'd been building up for the past year, hoping pitifully that I could go back to worrying about keeping straight As and cheerleading routines.

Riverdale in the space of an awfully long 24 hours, had now moulded into a place of further suspicion and unrest. Jason Blossom was only the beginning and now further betrayal - the very thing I feared would happen, had arrived in our town.

The Riverdale Bugle – Mom's arch nemesis in rival print media, had somehow attained the details of the murder.

"Look at this." Dad muttered, slamming the paper down on the breakfast table so hard that Polly jumped out of her skin and sent Cheerios scattering back into her bowl.

"Jeez Dad, since when do you head out early specifically to buy the other papers?" She sighed.

"Since they have more facts," he shot Mom a look as she entered in from the kitchen and placed a fresh stack of toast on the table. "Have a read, Alice."

"' _Town father murdered in cold blood_." She recited and scanned the article with scrutiny. "How on earth did those _morons_ get all of these details? The police flat out refused to reveal anything to the press yet!" She scowled, slamming the newspaper back down onto the table, setting Polly off again. Ignoring her, Mom promptly pulled out her phone and called the police station, demanding to speak with Sherriff Keller to complain.

Tuning her out, I angled the newspaper towards me and began to read;

 _After an incredibly dark few months and a valiant 7_ _5th_ _Jubilee Celebration, Riverdale was once again plunged into shock and despair yesterday as popular loving father and CEO of Andrew's Construction – Fred Andrews, was caught up in an attempted robbery whilst waiting for breakfast in the popular diner hangout 'Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe' on Sundrive Avenue. As Fred waited for his son Archie to return from the bathroom, an armed gunman strolled into the quiet diner and immediately demanded all of the cash in the register and safe. As Pop himself was being threatened at gunpoint, Fred took it upon himself to try and diffuse the situation, warning his son to stay away and head back into the bathroom upon his return. Seeing the masked gunman turn the gun on his own father, Archie Andrews hurled himself in front of the line of fire to protect him, prompting the shooter to open fire and escape the premises empty-handed. Shockingly, the bullet had caught Fred in the side of his stomach, rupturing it. Archie cradled his father in his arms as he took his last breaths and immediately commanded for someone to call an ambulance urgently, but unfortunately it was too late and Riverdale had lost one of its most brightest and hardworking sparks._

 _Riverdale is once again hurting, with its residents finding themselves asking; "why?". The Bugle would like at this point, to offer its deepest condolences to the Andrews family at this difficult time and urge that any strange suspicious behaviour, should be reported to the Sheriff's office immediately._

"Oh god," I gasped. "Arch _was_ there and saw the entire thing!" My hands flew to my open mouth, shaking uncontrollably. Polly sighed and stretched across the table to rub my arm.

"I'm so sorry, Betty. I know Archie is your friend." 

I nodded mutely, eyes not daring to leave the black and white grainy stock photo of Pop's the day of its opening, ten years ago. I pulled my phone from my pocket and sent Jughead a very short text; _Riverdale Bugle, first few pages._

Mom came off the phone and ran her hands through her perfectly styled locks. "Keller doesn't know how this _rag_ managed to get the whole story as they've made nothing public knowledge yet. How did they pull this crap off?"

"Is it too late to pull today's issue, you think?" Dad frowned.

"They would have circulated already, Hal," she snapped. "We'll have to work on an afternoon issue." They both grabbed their coats and bags, said a hurried goodbye to Polly and I, before rushing off to their downtown press office.

"They actually never fail to shock me, Polly. Fred Andrews was not just shot dead 24 hours ago, but here they are, more concerned about with their _newspaper?_ They're both crazy." I frowned.

"Tell me about it." She muttered and sub consciously moved her hands down to her swollen stomach and rubbed it gently. It felt so normal having Polly back inside the house and living with us again, that the Sisters of Mercy seemed like a long-forgotten dream that sat within a very dark past. I reached out and patted her hand with a sullen smile. Sometimes I didn't appreciate just how strong my older sister was, she was my ultimate protector and rock, electing to raise her two babies as independently as she could manage. I couldn't begin to imagine how she must be still hurting inside with the loss of Jason alongside finding out we were third cousins with him.

My phone buzzed. I removed my hand from Polly's and unlocked the screen, heart skipping a beat as Veronica's name flashed up on screen. The text read; _Sorry B. Completely messed up right now, has anyone heard from Archie? Come over?_

I tapped a short message back to confirm yes and arose from the table, downing the last mouthful of buttered toast. "Got to go Poll, I'll be at the Pembrook – are you going to be alright here on your own?" 

"Yeah," she smiled. "We'll be fine. Babies aren't going to pop out whilst you're gone." She beamed down at her stomach with pure motherly love.

"Call me if anything happens?" I grabbed my jacket and headed out into the chilly November air, shivering as soon as the cool air hit my bumpy skin. Despite the frosty temperature of an arriving Winter, I managed to race to the bottom of the street and over to the main side of town where the prestigious shadow of the Pembrook gleamed across the road from the town hall. Located in the busier part of town, there always seemed to be someone around at all hours on the streets surrounding the office buildings and local bars. For a deathly cold Sunday morning, I noticed the usual regulars already seated within the local establishments, hot drinks in hand.

I stepped into the main lobby of the Pembrook and noticed Smithers – the Lodge's faithful butler- sorting through the mail cubby for their apartment and recent delivery of packages to deliver upstairs. I nodded to him in greeting in which he beamed and tipped his hat to me.

Veronica and her mother accommodated the entire tenth floor, which demanded a long climb up ten flights of stairs or taking the heavily mirrored elevator. Stepping in, I promptly ignored my own reflection from all sides, screaming to highlight just how pale and haggard I was after a long and sleepless night.

Finally, the doors chirped open and I was face to face with Veronica's gleaming white oak front door. I took the polished lion knocker and rapped it three times – two fast and one slow. She'd know who it was before even opening the door.

Surely enough, the door opened slowly to reveal a very dishevelled looking Veronica Lodge - a far cry from her usual perfectly made up self. With no words exchanged, she collapsed into my arms with a crackled cry and breathed heavily into my shoulder. It was weird, I hadn't even considered a universe that existed, which included my beautiful best friend to not have her signature dark eyes and lips, hair meticulously brushed and straightened, accompanied only by her finest clothing and jewellery.

But here she was, in an old baggy sweater and shorts, face pale and blotted from what looked like an equally long night to what I'd also experienced.

"Are you okay, V?" I gently moved us both further into the apartment and shut the door behind with a curt click. Leading her to the huge cream sofa, we both sank down and she wiped her eyes fiercely.

"I'm fine Betty. Archie on the other hand," fresh tears poured down her cheeks. "Did you catch the morning paper?" She gestured towards the dark oak coffee table, currently adorned with a copy of every newspaper within Riverdale and its borders. "I couldn't sleep, so I woke up at dawn and went to pick all of these up for research. So far, the Bugle seems to be the only one with real details." 

I nodded. "My parents aren't happy. Sheriff Keller has no idea how the Bugle managed to go into great lengths about what happened," I glanced down at my slightly redded hands. "I can't stop thinking about poor Arch, how will he even get through this?" 

Veronica sniffed. "With our help of course, but we need to talk to him…" She trailed off. "He had to watch Fred die in his own arms. How sick is that?" We both fell into a heavily pregnant silence, struggling to find the words to describe how we collectively felt. The situation was dire, unescapable and horrendous. The fireplace was beginning to flicker with whatever wood was left, further proof of how long Veronica must have been pacing around the apartment since the early hours of the morning.

"Betty," Veronica whispered, closing our hands together. Her tone was full of something I couldn't quite detect. "I'm worried that my mother was somehow involved in this." She bit her lip anxiously, looking mildly surprised that she's managed to blurt out the words she must have been holding onto.

"Ronnie, how could you ever _think_ that?" 

She sighed. "A few nights ago – Jubilee night. After your speech, Archie and I were going to meet you guys at Pop's and we heard my Mom and his Dad talking about the business. She and my Dad wanted to buy Fred out of the Sodale contract. Well, he flat out refused and insisted that he wanted to stay working on the project, seeing it through to the end," she paused to breathe. "Mom was surprised and tried to urge him, but he wouldn't budge." She shrugged, running a nail-bitten hand through her untidy dark locks. Worry was heavily etched on her face.

"No way, your mother wouldn't dream of doing something so disgusting like killing Fred Andrews! Where is she now?" The apartment was deathly silent without her heels clacking loudly around the apartment as she flitted from one busy errand to another.

"Out at the construction site, talking to investors of the new build. They don't like it when there's a monumental hindrance in projects they've thrown money at." She scowled, bitter. It sounded like one of their famous Veronica and Hermione disagreements, so I didn't push the subject any further.

"The thing is," she continued, holding out her arms in the air. "I keep thinking about what my father wrote in his letter to me, the one I showed you before I testified? He clearly stated what Mom was not as innocent as I think she is. What am I supposed to do with that?" 

"Hey," I grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look into my eyes. "Your Mom really liked Fred didn't she? For all of her faults, I would bet money on Hermione Lodge being innocent in this case. I honestly don't believe she had anything to do with this…" 

"No," Veronica reasoned. "But she also likes my father a lot, they come as a package deal. Maybe they were both involved?" 

"Doubtful, it's too easy to trace. If you think about your parents hatching a deal together, their phone calls would have been monitored and someone would piece together the case," my detective brain had taken over. "This crime is way too public and bold to be an obvious contender. How did your Mom take the news when she found out?" 

"Shaken, she could barely get dressed this morning."

"Well then," I pressed. "Doesn't that hint towards her innocence?"

Veronica's shoulders sagged, she swallowed heavily. "But what if they _did_ somehow have him killed? How would I ever look Archie in the eye again?" The last word escaped as a broken sob, her face collapsed into her hands, hair falling around her head.

"If there was a very small chance, then you would still need to face him as Veronica Lodge. He will undoubtedly be broken for a long time, but the bottom line is; we are not our parents." I echoed Jughead's words as he comforted me in the Blue and Gold's office after my panic attack. It was one of those rare moments that Jug could really break through to me and put things in such a way that would make sense and resonate deep down. He was truly going to be an amazing writer one day and I would never be able to pay him back for his comfort and support he gave me willingly, unselfishly.

"Besides," I added. "We still can't rule out that was a simple mugging gone wrong." 

Veronica's eyes darkened. "I think we can both agree Betty, nothing happens in Riverdale by _accident_."

I hated to admit that she was completely right and the events of the past few months were concrete proof of just how a town can astronomically implode and change the lives of everything within its radius. At one point, one of us suggested that hot chocolates with marshmallows would be a fantastic idea, so naturally Veronica marched off to the kitchen whilst I pulled the huge sofa throw into the seat and grabbed a few more pillows, scattering them between sides. I also decided that it would be perfect for an Audrey Hepburn film and popped the DVD into the player, illuminating the huge screen.

Halfway through _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ , my raven haired best friend elected to turn the volume down and turn to me.

"Betty, I need to tell you something." 

"I sure hope it's not about this popcorn," I grinned and rustled the bag. "Because I totally just ate it all." 

"No," she chuckled. "But remind me to call you a pig later. It's actually about Archie and I?" She swallowed, looking nervous and not meeting my eyes.

"I said I was fine with you guys, Ronnie. Completely one hundred percent."

She smiled uneasily, clasping her hands together. "After the immense number of milkshakes and burgers we had Friday night, Archie walked me back here and well, I invited him in," she inhaled slowly. "And we… Uh, kind of spent the night together." Blushing slightly, she dipped her head down away from my gaze, as if preparing herself from a Betty explosion of abuse.

I smiled, patting her head. "Ronnie, it's okay. You and Arch look great together and I'm glad you have each other." And I really meant it. It seemed almost impossible that a few months ago, a world without an Archie that loved me, looked bleak and lonely. We had all come so far, it was crazy to look back. I was in love with Jughead Jones and despite our differences, it felt great.

"I actually have some news too." Now it was my turn to blush.

"Well? Dish it out, girl." 

"Funnily enough – the same night, Jughead and I headed back to his trailer to hang out. Neither one of us wanted to be alone. And. Um. We ended up… You know." My cheeks flushed crimson, but I couldn't control the beaming smile that appeared on my face.

Veronica choked on her last dregs of hot chocolates. "Sex? Betty Cooper and Riverdale's most eligible bachelor – Jughead Jones, went all the way huh?"

I hit her with a well-placed pillow and she shrieked in excitement and glee. She immediately dived forwards to grab her phone from the coffee table.

"I am texting Kevin right now and then you're going to spill all of the dishy details, B. This is _way_ more interesting than my news… Was he gentle?"

"Yes, and no Ronnie – he'll tell the entire school!" 

"No, he won't, he'll be so proud I'm sure there will be tears." 

I rolled my eyes. "Juggie freaked out when I threw him a birthday party. How do you think he'll react when everyone knows we slept together? Twice." I ignored the second shrill of excitement from my eager best friend.

"Fine, fine dear Bettykins. But you so owe me some major details." We both laughed - a sound I had missed so much among the sea of betrayal, misfortune and misery we'd all endured for weeks. The sound of keys in the front door caused us both to look up from our happy moment.

Hermione Lodge entered with an audible sigh and closed the door promptly behind her, with a wad of mail and packages in hand. Just as with Veronica, her mother's eyes were also dark and sunken but she'd attempted to hide It with a mask of thick make up.

"Any news on Archie, Mom?" Veronica was no longer in a laughing mood and dropped into her serious/worried tone as her mother removed her coat and scarf.

"Not much, Ronnie. Oh, hi there Betty. I heard that Mary Andrews is flying back home as soon as possible. I guess from there, they can make the proper arrangements together." She turned to the glass cabinet in the corner of the room and proceeded to pour herself a large whiskey. "Fred was such a good man…" She whispered, voice wobbling. Sniffing, she quickly wiped her cheeks and turned back to smile at us, tumbler in hand.

"So, what are you girls up to today?" 

Veronica had sunken back into her sullen mood and stared silently into her empty mug. I smiled at Mrs. Lodge. "Actually, I was just about to get going. I've left Polly home alone." I untangled myself from the blanket and picked up my bag from the opposite sofa, squeezing Veronica's shoulder in reassurance along the way. Both of them said goodbye and I scuttled back downstairs into the grey rain and sleet back outside again.

Instinctively, my feet began to propel me forwards without a real thought to where I was going. I thought about Veronica's worries about her parents and the way her mother had looked so crushed when she returned home. There simply had to be no way that Hermione Lodge would be involved with such a scandal, let alone orchestrate the murder of her daughter's boyfriend's father, who she was also beginning to develop feelings for.

The whole situation screamed of Greek tragedy, with no visible way through the metaphorical fog we now found ourselves wading through.

My feet stopped and I suddenly realised that they had taken me towards the familiar hangout we all knew and loved, a place that we once felt safe in. Nothing, we thought would be able to touch us.

Pop's lay in front of me with police tape still decorated across the entrances. The lights had been turned off for the first time since opening and was ultimately lost against the grey heavy clouds of the wintery weather. The silence was deafening.

My phone buzzed. A text from Jughead, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all day. The message simply read; _We're going to see Archie tomorrow._


	3. 3 - Jughead

**Chp. 3 – Jughead.**

The next morning, the town awoke on a very different mood, as news of Fred Andrew's murder spread like wild fire amongst hushed whispers between friends, family and even simple acquaintances looking to share Riverdale's next main event. Everyone could only agree on one thing; that the probability of Archie's Dad being murdered was no random mugging gone wrong, it was planned.

It was seemingly obvious that people were moving around in small groups, whispering about the second Riverdale killer on the loose and throwing absurd accusations towards their friends and neighbours, whom of which had known each other since birth.

Pop Tate's Diner was the visual representation for safety in Riverdale – the one consistent element that everyone could rely on to bring them out of the dark reality of normal life. It was only ironic that the image was shattered so violently after 6 months of bleak mystery. The beginning of the end.

"More coffee, Jughead?" I glanced up from my laptop to see Mrs. Matthews smile at me and jiggle the coffee jug pointedly. I nodded and rubbed my eyes.

"What are you working on?" She asked.

"Homework." I lied. I was so protective of my inner-Jughead works that so little few people beyond Betty and Archie knew what I was really hoping to achieve. Still, the Matthews family were the positive end of the foster family spectrum. Stephanie and her son Daniel lived alone together in a small three-bedroom terraced house in the more nicer area of the South Side – if there was ever such a thing. Even better, they were mostly non-invasive beyond general conversation and pleasantries with both being used to fostering moody teens with severe family issues before. As strange as it was, this was my home until either I turned 18 or one of my wayward parents returned. After which I would return to my castle that was my trailer and decide what path to take next.

Stephanie Matthews sat down with her own mug of liquid enthusiasm, in the stool opposite me across the breakfast bar and smirked. "Homework? From the half day you decided to stay at your new school for?"

"There was an… Incident," I said carefully. "Someone from my old school tried to kill herself."

"Jeez, friend?" 

"No," I smiled. "Not my friend, but not an enemy either." In truth, that perfectly described about 95% of the people I knew with Betty and Archie as my inner circle. I was secretly proud at his heroics in the events of two days ago. Always the real deal when it came to saving damsels in distress and even saving my own ass more times than I cared to admit.

She sipped from her cup and set it back down on the counter, flicking through the Sunday morning newspaper. I was thankful the house was entirely coaster-free.

"I was going to go and see my girlfriend tomorrow after school, if that's okay?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm impressed you're planning on showing up tomorrow. I don't mind Forsythe, just do me a favour and don't disappear again, huh?"

"Jughead," I prompted. "Forsythe sounds so… _Old_."

"And what does Jughead sounds like exactly?" She cocked an eyebrow and snorted. "Does your girlfriend know your entire given name, _Forsythe Pendleton Jones III_?" 

"No, and she won't either." I muttered, downing the last dregs of coffee and grabbing my bag from the stool next to me, before she could delve any deeper into my birth. I said goodbye and stomped out into the thin sheet of snow.

It had been nearly three days since last hearing from my hot-headed friend and I didn't want to leave any more concerned voicemails and texts to a phone that was switched off. Betty and Veronica were both worried sick and I couldn't do anything to help. I'd even tried to shake up Kevin for some real details of Archie's whereabouts, who turned out to be just as in the dark as we were.

The road looked alien and out of place, compared to the clean picket fence-lined street that Archie and Betty resided on. All of the houses on the South Side were greyer, squashed together like huge cattle fighting for air. There was a rancid smell that filled my nose and I soon came upon a rotting dead fox on the path ahead, mouth open in a death snarl and glassy eyes fixed on me. I couldn't help but be reminded of Jason's cold dead face with the exact same shade of red hair; bullet hole clearly visible on his head as a parting gift from Mr. Blossom himself. For all of my father's faults, I knew he would rather die over killing me.

My phone buzzed in my fleece lined jacket, indignant to be the focus of my attention. The screen flashed with Archie's name. Stopping dead in the snow, I scanned his message: _Sorry I've been ignoring you, Jug. Things are such a mess. I don't know what to do._

Not wasting another minute, I tapped the call icon and held it to my ear, ducking under the closest bus shelter to escape from the invading wet snowflakes. The phone continued to ring for a few moments before I was connected with a deathly silence and a croaky; "Jughead?"

It was such a welcoming sound after two days of radio silence.

"Archie, pal. How are you?" I mentally kicked myself, of course he wouldn't be anything but messed up right now, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them.

"Not great," Archie replied. "Kind of wasted actually." He wasn't joking. I didn't recognise the voice I was talking to but it wasn't my oldest friend. 

"Wasted? Where are you? I'll come to you." 

Archie belched, dragging it out. "Don't know. A hotel outside town. My Mom's flight gets in later. Did you know that the bar downstairs doesn't need ID to serve alcohol?" There was a strange choking sound that could have been him laughing or crying, it was hard to tell when he was slurring all over the place.

"Arch, how much have you had to drink?" 

"Not much… _Mom._ " 

I pursed my lips, using all the patience I had not to launch into a full scale Betty-style lecture on how he shouldn't be drinking alone and suffering in silence. I tried desperately to imagine what she would say that would defuse the situation, she was the expert in social Archie-isms.

"I'm so broken up, man," he whispered, all traces of sarcasm and laughter disappeared. "I can't believe he's gone. I didn't even get to say goodbye to him. Not properly anyway." He breathed deeply down the phone, struggling to control his anguish and pain inside that would have been building up for a few days. He collapsed into deep, racking sobs that reverberated down the speaker and racked through my brain until I was unsure I'd ever be able to forget such a sad sound.

"He loved you. You were the most important thing to him, Arch. Remember that." I offered, kicking the snow at my feet gently. I heard Archie sniff and blow his nose. "Tell me the address, I'll come and find you. We'll talk."

"My Mom will be here soon." he muttered weakly. "She's pretty crushed too."

"Tomorrow then? I'll skip school and everything." Regardless of what his answer was going to be, my mind was already made up, my promise to Mrs. Matthews would need to take a back seat, I'd handle her. This was far more important than a sub-standard education.

Archie didn't protest my idea, I wasn't even completely sure he was listening until he eventually made a sound in agreement and sighed shakily.

"Shall I bring the girls too? I know they'd want to see you. Make sure you're okay." I pressed gently.

"Not Veronica… Not yet. Please. Just Betty, and you. No one else." He said desperately.

"No one else, then." I promised. I began walking slowly towards the border, kicking mounds of rising snow out of my way. The flakes were starting to feel heavier. 

There was a crunching sound that sounded a lot like Archie throwing himself back onto his hotel bed. "I want to go and see my Dad… At the morgue. But Keller suggested I lay low for a while out of media attention. I'm restless. I don't know what to do with myself." 

"Out of sight from the vultures would be the best thing right now." I agreed, passing by a small general store. My attention was grabbed by the rack of daily newspapers, leaned up against the rickety doorway. More specifically, the front page of the Riverdale Bugle. I suddenly remembered that Betty had sent me a weird cryptic text that morning to prompt me to read it. There was no need to ask why – the front page was covered with an old photo of Pop's beside a photo of Fred with little Archie balanced on his knee. Underneath were the words; _Exclusive first scoop inside!_

"Arch," I muttered. "Promise me you won't look at the papers or the TV, just stay away from them." I scowled in disgust at the black and white pages and continued walking.

"I know. Keller gave me the exact same advice this morning. Didn't want me to get caught up in it all." His voice turned hard and bitter.

"Screw them all. So, it's agreed – I'll grab Betty and swing by tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll text you the address." He elected not to say goodbye and ended the call just as fast as the conversation began, leaving me in a strange limbo at how awkward it was to talk to someone I could barely recognise, not quite knowing what to say. I quickly shot Betty a quick text at our new plans for tomorrow and shoved my hands in my pockets, bracing against the bitter cold and snow.

I wasn't entirely sure where I was going – I just needed to escape my new crowded home and wander back to familiar surroundings again, breathe a little easier. It took twenty further minutes to head to the North side at a steady pace – completely bypassing the usual route I took past Pop's at all costs. Before I knew it, I found myself standing outside the red bricked building of the police station, looming overhead. Before I had a chance to change my mind, I forced myself through the front doors and walked up to the reception desk.

"Here to see your Dad, Jug?" The clerk cocked her head with a small smile, eyes wrinkling at the corners with an unspoken sympathy. If people weren't looking at me with unshielded hate, it was the same sympathetic head movement mirrored on everyone.

"Yes."

"Go on through. Visitor hours end earlier than normal on Sundays though, so you've got about an hour max." She pressed the button under her desk and the metal gate buzzed and swung open. I thanked her, crossing the threshold and tried to make the short walk to the holding cells go on for a long as possible. Why was I even here?

Turning towards the end corner, I could see my father sat up on his cell, perched on the bed. Someone had provided an old comic book for him to spend time blasting away the many long hours before trial. It was old and frayed from the hundreds of times it's been thumbed through anxiously, now slightly yellowed and bent. Not that FP Jones II looked much different himself. I was unware at how old a stint in jail could make someone look.

Hearing my approach, he tossed the comic book onto the bed and stood up, hands in pockets. "How many times do I need to tell ya, Jughead? You shouldn't be here." I couldn't explain the wave of relief it was to hear my own father's voice over the events of the past few days. As croaked and broken as it was, it was a sure sound that my Dad was still here, still present.

"Don't worry, this isn't a social call," I muttered, eyeing the security camera. "How you been?" 

"Not great, pretty good for a cheap detox though," he chuckled weakly, shuffling from one foot to the other. "What can I do for you, Jughead?" 

I shrugged. "I kind of just wanted to see you. See if you'd heard?" 

"Heard what?" 

"The news?" 

"No," he frowned. "They don't exactly put a TV in here for me."

As I thought, Sheriff Keller hadn't even bothered to tell my Dad his old friend was dead. My shoulders sagged, this was not was I was hoping for. I wondered if I should have brought Betty along for support – but there was no point hiding behind her, I had to face this alone.

"Something happened yesterday morning, Dad," I paused. "Fred Andrews was shot, he didn't make it." 

Confusion immediately pooled on his grizzly features. "What are ya talking about, son? He was just in here yesterday." 

I blanched. "W-What?" 

Dad threw his arms up and glanced at the camera in the corner of the room, as if expecting Keller to appear from it. "You want to tell me what the hell's going on, Jug?" 

"Dad, Fred Andrews," I pressed "What time did he come and see you?" 

Dad gestured wildly to the lack of clock on the wall and shrugged. "They like to drag time out down here, I have no idea. Maybe morning?" 

Closing my eyes and hands flying to my hips, I exhaled deeply to the breath I'd been holding onto. For a fleeting moment, I dared to believe that something was horribly wrong and that the police made a mistake – Fred was still alive. But this only confirmed that my father was one of the last people to see him before he was shot at 9:24am.

"I really don't want to be the one to tell you this Dad," I made my way over to the bars. "Mr. Andrews was shot yesterday morning. Apparent mugging gone wrong. He died at the scene." I left out the part where the whole town didn't believe it was a random occurrence – it wouldn't be fair to confuse the situation further right now.

The painful heart wrenching part, was seeing my father go through the stages of processing what I'd just revealed to him. I could see he was crushed, even though nothing appeared on the surface visibly right away. His eyes were the giveaway, a sure sign of an inner implosion, threatening to absorb everything around it. He ran a hand through his messy hair and rested them both behind his neck, shaking his head. Sure enough, the emotion finally reached the surface, boiling over and his face crumbled.

"I uh… Wanted you to hear it from me instead of overhearing someone else in here a week later." 

He nodded, fist pressed to his mouth and tears streaming. "Thank you, Jug. For all of our ups and downs, he was my best buddy." He sniffed and wiped his face on his plaid shirt.

"Dad – was Fred acting weird at all? When he came to see you?" I was clutching at straws, desperate to find the link that proved this was not an unfortunate unlucky accident. Maybe it was my sleuthing over-active imagination at work again, grasping another deep mystery now that Jason's has been closed. Pulling me into the watery depths of yet another impossible situation.

"Damn it Jughead – I don't know… We just talked." He sank down onto the small bed, rusted bars and ancient mattress creaking. "Archie. Man, that poor kid. Mary will be crushed too. I don't believe this…" He seemed to be working himself into an angry, broken state by this point which was my cue to drop the interrogation. For the first time in a long time, I wished more than anything that I could hug him without a wall of bars between us and allowed to be joint in our grief. The only comfort from all this, was that my Dad had no access to anything drinkable that wasn't water and seemingly unable to fall spectacularly off the wagon again. We lost Mom and Jellybean to his weakness, I wasn't prepared to lose him altogether.

The next morning, I awoke earlier than usual and pulled on the clothes nearest to the bed. The passing snow looked to have cleared overnight and was replaced with heavy sheets of rain hammering loudly on the window, providing barely any visuals to the outside world. Not that I was bothered, the small terraced houses were too close and privacy was scarce when you could hear every moment from a neighbour's bedroom sharing the same wall.

It was still dark outside with a faint blue glow, casting shadows across the rest of my new bedroom filled with furniture that I didn't own. As nice as it was to have clean sheets, nothing felt like my space back at the trailer, filled with various Jughead-isms and memories. With a heartfelt pang, I longed to be back there; in bed, listening to the rain drops catapult from the top of the tin roof. I could almost feel the content smile on my face.

The only item besides clothing and my laptop, I elected to bring along to my latest adventure with me; was the framed photo of Betty and I sat atop of my bedside cabinet. It was one of those sickeningly perfect candid shots where we were both sat in a booth at a very empty Pop's, in the early hours of the morning. We were drowning in neon lights, sat next to each other – holding gazes silently and brushing each other's fingertips. I remember looking up to see Archie with his camera and a huge thumbs up. Little did he know the moment was already forever burned into my memory anyway – with or without photographic evidence. It was the first time we'd confessed to each other that we were really starting to fall seriously in love, beyond the stereotypical high school boyfriend/girlfriend drama.

Still, the Jughead of one year ago would seriously fail to grasp the magnitude of the journey we'd taken, let alone accept that I was now in a serious relationship with the perfect girl. Or that I wasn't even a virgin anymore.

I smiled to myself in the darkness, glad no one was around to see.

I left the house about half eight after a hurried goodbye to Mrs. Matthews and grabbed some toast from the kitchen side. In truth, I had no idea how she's react when she was notified that I skipped my second day of South Side High. But I didn't care – there would be plenty of times for explanations later.

I'd agreed to meet Betty at the bus station by nine to catch the first bus out of the city and find our way to Archie's hideaway hotel. As promised, he texted over the address as soon as I got home from the police station the day before.

I caught sight of her first before she had a chance to see me. Even just watching the back of her head, I could easily single her out from the rest of the crowd and take an accurate guess on what expression she was wearing.

Sliding my arms around her waist, I murmured: "Hey beautiful." 

She turned, and smiled with a simple; "Jughead," reaching up to snake her arms around my neck and meeting my lips softly, sending my heart racing. "I missed you."

"Me too," I smiled and nuzzled the base of her neck. "Feels like more than a couple of days since we even saw each other." 

"Day before yesterday, Casanova," she winked. "So you want to tell me why I couldn't bring Veronica along? You _do_ know what she'll do to us when she finds out, right?"

I snorted. "Scowl, not talk to me for a week and revoke my boyfriend privileges. It was Archie who said not to, just us." 

"It just seems weird to not want his own girlfriend there. Is he okay?" Her eyebrows knotted together with undiluted worry.

"No," I said truthfully. "But it's going to be a long process and if I know my best friend, he'll pull through it eventually." Or at least I hoped he would.

We had fifteen minutes to kill before the next bus departed to where we needed to go, so Betty decided to buy me a black coffee and a spiced tea for herself. We found an empty bench at the back of the bus station and huddled up together. My nose wrinkled involuntarily at the sweet smell of her beverage.

She made a face. " _Really_ Jug? You're the one with the bitter black coffee and you think _this_ smells strong?" 

"Keeps me awake," I noted. "And it really can't be all that bad, or your lips wouldn't be anywhere near me." I finished with a wink and was greatly amused at the slight pink tint to her cheeks.

"Hey – I'm tarnishing my perfect school record to skip today and come with you, don't make me regret it." She nudged me and took a sip of her drink.

I hadn't yet told her about my visit to see my father the day before, or what little information that he managed to relay back to me. It was stupid, I knew she'd be more than willing to listen to my wild conspiracy theories and then go as far as to create her own as well. But I was feeling selfish and reckless and wanted to soak up this perfect little moment of happiness together before Riverdale decided to intervene again, sending us spiralling further into another mess. To me, these small fleeting moments were worth remembering and cherishing, something to hold onto the next time the darkness wanted to take me.

"Do you think your foster family will be mad that you skipped school?"

"Indefinitely," I replied, supping the coffee in my cold hands and soaking up the warmth. "But Archie was always there for me through everything. I owe him this at least." 

"Me too," she whispered, linking our free arms together. "I just wished you lived next door again. We totally didn't utilise that time to full potential." 

"You mean midnight rendezvous at the window? Sneaking out for a hot make out session in Archie's old treehouse? Oh yeah, we missed out. Believe me, I wish everything was the same as it was before. Unfortunately the powers that be, want me on the South Side." I didn't mention just how much I longed to walk her home after school together and return to Archie's house to resume our games.

It hurt so much, because never again would that be possible. Never again, would Fred poke her head around the door and say goodnight, make a stupid dad joke or give me advice on how to get through my days without giving up on my father. The truth being, that Fred Andrews was always like a second father and filled in the void, where my own father couldn't. It frustrated me that he was allowed to be so easily ripped away from his life so easily. Especially in a simple theft gone wrong.

"Betty, I…" 

"Good morning, hashtag Bughead." A rude awakening with long red hair, stepped into our field of vision with hands on her hips. It took me a moment to register Cheryl Blossom with hardly any makeup on, wearing a plain thick sweater with old jeans and weathered shoes. She blinked, visibly bothered by our unanimous shock of her appearance.

"Oh this?" She glanced down at herself briefly and shook her hand. "Going for the hobo look. It's so _in_ at the moment – Jughead, you'd know."

Betty was the first to get over herself and close her jaw. "Cheryl, it's really good to see you. How's your Mom doing?" 

Cheryl rolled her eyes dramatically. "Still not speaking to me, I honestly did her a favour – purity well earned." 

"Yeah, I heard about the fire," Betty mumbled, a flash of concern crossed her face. "Was everything really burned and destroyed?" 

"Down to ashes," Cheryl chirped cheerily, looking frighteningly happier and lighter. "It was also time to say goodbye to Jason's things. The whole house was a living memorial to him and…" She paused and opened her mouth, blinking for a few seconds. I imagined that she had barely uttered the word; 'Dad' since he left the town with a final cliff-hanger.

Not finishing the rest of her sentence, she smiled and moved on. "Mom and I are living downtown now in a studio flat, slumming it out like poor people," she beamed and clasped her hands together as if she'd received the best news ever. "Mom is planning on finding a job soon. Well, once she stops sulking anyway."

Betty shone her a genuine smile, really happy for her. "Sounds great, have the police worked out what caused the fire?" 

"Moi, of course," she whispered, pressing a chipped finger to her lips. "I was feeling for chaos and a fresh start." Like a redheaded whirlwind, she said goodbye and began to walk a few steps away before spinning on her heels back to face us again.

"Whenever you see Archie next… Just let him know that I'm sorry, okay? Losing a member of the family is never easy." She blew us a kiss and disappeared off into the crowd again in a flash of auburn hair.

"… Neither is burning down your own house," I snorted. "She is all kinds of crazy." 

"She's an onion," Betty said as-matter-of factly and her eyes bored into mine. "She has many complicated, messed up layers. Did you see how happy she looked though? Like a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders." 

"A world where Betty Cooper agreeing with Cheryl Blossom doesn't make sense." I quipped, earning a well-aimed elbow into my ribs. She grinned, satisfied and downed the rest of her paper cup.

"So what were you going to say before Cheryl Bombshell interrupted?" 

"Nothing," I said automatically. "Just that I love you." I'd eventually tell Betty later about my Dad's revelation and we'd do our usual duet and team up, thinking of ways that Fred's last morning on earth could have panned out.

For now, Archie needed us and our undivided attention. If nothing else in this world, I would make damn sure he got that. 

**AN:**

 **Hi everyone – Holly here. I just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone who has left a lovely review so far and has supported me with favourites and alerts. I am very determined to get this story completed by the start of October 2017, before the start of Riverdale Season 2. It will be interesting to see how my version of events compares with the next series and if I managed to do something similar or run completely off the mark. Either way, season 2 is going to be amazing and I will continue to be inspired.**

 **Once again, thank you everyone and please continue to enjoy your journey**

 **H x**


	4. 4 - Betty

**Chp. 4 – Betty.**

"This is the place." I frowned up at the grandiose hotel that stretched before us, almost as long as it was tall. We were about five miles outside of Glendale and ten out of Riverdale, officially the furthest out of town I'd ever been in my seventeen years of live so far. Beside me, Jughead looked as if he was having the same doubts as I was, he scanned Archie's text again, glancing up at the gold plaque next to the slowly revolving doors. It was beginning to rain lightly as the grey clouds overhead began to grow darker.

"Yeah, this is the place alright. Room 204." He looked about as uncomfortable as I felt. Just gazing through the spotless windows, lay a golden and decorated mahogany lobby that screamed high end living. We were going to be scarily out of place.

"How on earth do you think he can afford to stay here?" I muttered, slipping my clammy fingers into Jughead's own warm ones. He gave me a reassuring squeeze.

"His Mom is a successful defence lawyer, she probably paid in advance for him to stay here until she could get a flight. Plus, I bet they'd notify her if he managed to slip out on his own. Come on – let's get this over with." He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on my forehead, leading the way and stepping through the revolving doors.

Greeted by the sounds of a distant piano, we found ourselves standing out amongst a heavily coordinated reception area, adorned by huge frame paintings around the room and expensive-looking leather sofas and seats dotted around. I lost count as how many potted plants and vases of flowers were standing proudly, not a hint of wilt or death on them. I envied the lobby cleaner – I could barely keep one flower alive, let alone dozens.

Just situated ahead, was a huge marble desk with three computer screens sitting behind, along with a bored looking Receptionist, twiddling a lock of dyed blonde hair around a perfectly manicured finger.

Catching sight of us shuffling uncomfortably by the entrance, she scowled as if we dirtied the clean, air conditioned air with our mere presence. "Can I help?" She drawled, rapping those painted claws atop the marble surface.

"Actually, yes," I pasted on my perfect Betty-smile and stepped forwards confidently towards the desk. "We're here to see someone, can you point us in the right direction?" 

"I could," she paused. "However, we don't allow visitors in private rooms without hotel passes. Policy." The corners of her mouth turned up into the hint of a smirk. I could feel Jughead glaring, desperate to put her in her place.

"That's great," I replied, not allowing my irritation to show. "But we're not here to see a guest. As I understand, you guys have an onsite wedding planner? We're scoping out potential wedding venues. I called ahead a few days ago to check her availability." My eyes moved back to her piercing blue eyes from the wedding pamphlet stand, heart beating. I pressed my head into the crook of Jughead's arm, cupped the side of his face and looked up at him with pure adoration and love. Beneath the surface, my eyes were screaming; _Keep quiet Jughead, go with it. Don't say a word!_

The gatekeeper narrowed her heavily made up eyes. "You're engaged? Congratulations, how long?" I honestly hoped that her next question wouldn't call attention to the fact that we looked so young. 

"Five months," I replied curtly, not daring to miss a beat. "He proposed in Paris, it was so romantic." I feigned being giddy with happiness and hung off his arm, giggling. Jughead slipped his arm around the back of my waist and pulled me in closer.

The receptionist rolled her eyes, obviously having heard and seen it all before. "Do you have an appointment booked?" 

"We don't. But she advised that it was fine," I shrugged nonchalantly. "Mondays are slow moving for business anyway, am I right?" I laughed airily as she began to visibly deflate, no longer entertained by the two teenage street urchins that wandered through the door.

With a few moments tapping at her computer, she handed Jughead a floor map of the hotel and one of the pamphlets I'd been looking at, sending us on our way as she returned back to playing with her hair, staring into space once again.

"The map says the elevators are over here, Jughead muttered, pulling me along behind him. "Hotel rooms can be accessed through the middle one, floors two to seven." He took a moment and pushed the button nearest to us and dragging me in behind him.

As with the Pembook, prestigious buildings seemed to want to enforce that all its inhabitants and visitors must look perfect at all times, as this particular elevator was also lined with mirrors on all four walls. I automatically dropped my gaze to the carpeted ground as Jughead selected the floor.

"So, Mrs Jones. Have you thought about bridesmaids yet?" He nudged me to look up at him. "You're a damn good liar, Betty Cooper?" 

"I was lucky, I saw weddings at the hotel being advertised at the front desk and words just started tumbling out." I was a little impressed and surprised myself, that the lie managed to work so well and we were free to wander about. I didn't want to confess, that the very moment I told Jughead I was falling in love with him, normal life situations such as our wedding and first child had already run through my mind, numerous times. I'd lost count at the number of hours I imagined Jughead nervously sinking to his knee and pulling out a small box, opening it as I squealed in excitement.

"Here we go, into the dragon's den." He muttered, bringing me promptly out of my daydream to focus on the situation at hand. The second floor looked very similar to the ground floor with yet another impressive collection of bespoke original paintings and plants. We managed to find room 204 easily down the first hallway we chanced and hovered outside for a short moment. Jughead was the first one to get over his apprehension and knock first.

A few extremely long moments passed by before the door spilled open to reveal a very different, paler looking Mary Andrews. She looked between the both of us as if she was unsure if we were just apparitions of her imagination or not. With a choked cry, she fell forwards and enveloped us both into a bone crushing hug, drowning us in her perfume.

"Jughead… Betty." She wept, sobbing quietly onto our shoulders. Jug and I looked at each other, we patted her softly on the back and before long, she managed to compose herself and delicately wipe the tears away.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Andrews." I whispered. "I can't even imagine what you and Archie are going through right now." Jughead nodded along in silent agreement.

Mary sniffed. "The important thing is that I am here now. You both are also here, I'm sure Archie will be pleased to see you both. He's been a bit withdrawn the past couple of days. Will barely say a word to me." She didn't look so good herself. The hotel room was huge and more closely resembled a rented apartment with adjoining doors and hallways leading off from the main room. There were piles of clothes and boxes scattered around, a sure sign that Mary was not intending to have this all wrapped up and get back to her normal life anytime soon.

"Where is he?" Jughead said, scanning around the front for any sign that our redheaded friend might be nearby.

"Bedroom, first door on the left as you go through," she gently squeezed our shoulders, looking from one to the other. "Be gentle with him. We'll catch up with a coffee or something after." 

"Sure thing, I promise." I replied. I led Jughead towards the left-hand side of the large hotel apartment-like room and around the corner where we came upon the only door which was slightly left ajar. Inside, the curtains were still drawn the held the room in darkness, blowing softly from the sound of a light wind and Monday morning rain outside.

Huddled on the bed hunched over, was the form of my best friend with his head in his hands. He only noticed we were even in the room, when I closed the door with a click behind us. He jumped, startled and swung round to see us sheepishly stood by the doorway.

At once I knew something was off with Arch. His reflexes were slower and he was half closing his eyes and squinting at us like we were far away. The smell of male musk and alcohol filled the room. It didn't take long to work out that he was drunk out of his mind. I could feel Jughead shoot me a look as if to say; _Don't lecture him. Let him have this one._

I shot him a reluctant look back and rolled my eyes back to a stumbling Archie, who finally realised we weren't a threat and flew over to us in a flash of red. I felt myself be enveloped in his arms, crushed against both his and Jughead's chests. Archie didn't seem to be wearing a shirt.

"Arch, I can't breathe." I mumbled, gasping for air. Jughead gently pushed him off and allowed himself to take the brunt of his weight

"What are you guys even doing here?" The redheaded one muttered, raking a hand through his messy locks and stumbling slightly from foot to foot. Decorated on his pale skin, was stubble beginning to grow back and dance across his face.

"We spoke yesterday, remember?" Jughead smirked, but I caught the way his eyes crinkled in worry.

"Ahh, we did." Archie confirmed and made his way over to the small desk in the corner and tumbling onto the desk chair. "Welcome to my humble abode, friends." He held out his arms in welcome and came to rest them on an unlabelled bottle, sat amongst a sea of similar bottles on the desk top. He indicated that we should make ourselves comfortable, so we precariously picked our way through a sea of debris and clothing, selecting the only available space on the bed to huddle together.

It didn't take a genius to deduce that Archie was in a bad way and clearly not giving much thought to himself. Could I even blame him? Did I even have the right to? I could count easily the amount of terrible days I'd endured and fallen deep inside myself, wanting the world to go away.

"How have you been, Arch?" I went for the obvious question, desperate to reach out. Of course, it was ridiculous and in no way, was I expecting a seriously truthful answer. But I dangled lost in limbo.

Archie's mouth turned up at the corners, expecting the question after probably hearing the very same words a thousand times from others. "Fine, dandy. My mom wants me to finish the school year here and move to Chicago back with her before, to a new school." The hardened eyes and cheek nibbling indicated that it was a conversation he didn't even want to consider at present.

"Are you going to?" Jughead asked.

"Don't know. I kind of, just want to shoot off now. Disappear." Archie took a deep swig of the dark bottle, which swished loudly as he slammed it back down on the desk and set the other bottles to rattle. I jumped, I hoped not visibly.

"It might not be so bad," Jug shrugged and rested his arms on his raised me. "A new kind of normalcy somewhere else for you."

Archie laughed loudly. "Normalcy is chaos in Riverdale, if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere." 

"But this is your home," I breathed, eyebrows furrowing. "You've always lived here. Surely it would make more sense to move away of your own choice one day instead of feeling that you have to?" It was concerning to even imagine my friend moving away in such a state.

He looked at me, incredulous. "My father is currently in a fridge, on a cold table, Betty. Nothing will ever be the same again." Eyes flashing, he took an angrier sip of the bottle and slammed it down once again. A few bottles fell on their side and rolled off, plopping to the heavily carpeted floor below. Neither noticing nor caring, Archie scowled. I pretended his bitter, cold tone didn't hurt. He was well within his rights to be angry.

"Until you make that choice," Jughead said quietly. "It's better for you to be around people who you know and care about you." 

"I thought I knew everyone in this stupid town," Archie growled, head snapping toward his best friend. "But I was _there_. Someone killed my father – _murdered_ an innocent man in cold blood. Jughead, I dived in front of my Dad to protect him, did you know that? And yet, the bullet still managed to hit him. The hell does that work?" He breathed deeply, like a raging bull and clung onto the bottle until his knuckled turned white. He looked a little taken aback with himself, perhaps shocked that he actually managed to say his opinion aloud and face his feelings, not satisfied with the police rumblings of 'just an unlucky shooting'.

"I'm so sorry, Arch. I can't even imagine what you're going through." Voice pitching higher than normal, I swallowed my tears back with the sudden realisation that I would too, never see Fred again. Either working in his garden or waving at me on the way to school and asking how I was. We'd been neighbours for years and our parents had gone to school together. The Andrews family were as deep rooted into the town as much as bedrock, a constant presence within our society and history. A stray tear slid town my cheek, I wiped it away before either of the boys could see.

"Archie," Jughead murmured. "On Saturday morning, your Dad went to visit mine at the Sheriff's Office. I went to see him yesterday and he mentioned it. I think it was just before he went to meet up with you at Pop Tate's." He glanced sideways at me sheepishly, with a look that suggested he was sorry he didn't ask me to come along for support. I gave him a small smile for support and slid my hand into his.

"No offence, Jug," Archie sighed and rubbed his eyes, leaning back on the wheeled chair. "But it doesn't even surprise me how there might be some Serpent involvement somewhere. No way this was an accident." Third swig of his bottle, a long one. He regarded his friend with a long stare, filled with no emotion and a darkness I hadn't seen in him before. I could feel the sharp intake of breath from the boy next to me, as he braced himself on the bed and flung his legs back onto the floor.

" _Involvement_?" Jug hissed. "He only went to visit my Dad, not to give his last will and testament! In case you haven't kept up pal, my Dad's going away for a pretty long time. How could he have possibly been involved?" 

"I don't know – okay? There's so much that doesn't add up here." Arch growled.

"Like what?" I interjected. "Come on Arch, let's work it out, together." I was half pleading at this point, determined to defuse the worryingly escalating situation between two of my favourite people.

"I feel like there's something else going on here."

"I agree." Jughead nodded, jaw hard.

I frowned and tried to stop my fists from clenching. "But who would want to kill Fred and why? He purposely made sure to stay out of drama."

"Except he sucked at it," muttered Archie darkly. "He got himself involved with the Lodge's. Hermione especially."

It finally clicked why he insisted on why he insisted that Jughead and I visited him alone today. As much as I felt guilty about going behind my best friend's back, today was not the day to be feeling guilty. Her presence would have only further alienated out friend and he wouldn't have been able to control himself from attacking her about her family with his built-up rage and suspicion.

"Ronnie said you caught them both talking Friday night?" I suddenly remembered, earning a curious look from my boyfriend.

Archie rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Yeah, we did alright. Hiram and Hermione wanted to buy my Dad out of the Sodale contract. He said no, being the stubborn old man that he is… Was." 

"That could be a motive," Jug suggested. "But the whole town knew about the both of them. They weren't exactly secretive. Don't you think it's too obvious for Hiram?" 

Archie exhaled. "Bro, you don't think I know that? But it's between the Lodge's and the Serpent's on my current lead list – don't even look at me like that Jughead." 

Said boy scowled and blinked slowly. "My Dad isn't exactly role model of the year, or decade. But no way would he allow the snakes to kill someone-.." 

"No?" Archie snapped. "You must be forgetting Mustang. And the fact your father also _helped_ to cover up the murder and have the courtesy to send Jason on a diving experience after. Pretty cold for someone to dispatch a kid the same age as his son, same year even." 

"He was being _blackmailed_." Jughead snarled and leapt off the bed and meeting Archie in the middle of the crowded bedroom, both huffing and squaring up to each other. It was difficult to recall just how many times I'd seen both of them truly lose it. It was devastating to see two best friends go at each other's throats. I felt my fingernails self-consciously stress-stabbing into the meaty flesh of my palms.

"FP is a good person, he'd never in a million years have anything to do with the death of his friend." I insisted firmly.

Archie scoffed and laughed. He set aside his bottle onto the desk with another slam and turned his attention to me. "Betty, that _good_ man you seem have convinced yourself with – _aided_ in the murder of Jason Blossom. I would have thought you of all people, would still have _morals_ , despite the fact you're screwing his son?" 

Before I could stop myself or have time to think, my body flew across the room, darted around Jughead and struck Archie across the face with a harsh slap that reverberated around the room, bringing all three of us out of the tension and into the present. I breathed heavily, feeling my own personal darkness take over to the point where it was threatening to spill over, ready to scream and engulf the room. Destroy.

But it was the face of my oldest friend, staring back wide-eyed at me with a heart-breaking expression across his features. A red hand print began to appear across the entire side of his face. I was disgusted and repulsed with myself that I couldn't control my anger. I'd just assaulted a seventeen-year-old boy, whose father was murdered days ago.

"Arch-..." I began, tears spilling over and etching down the side of my face, as my hands flew to my mouth in horror. In my peripheral vision, I could see Jughead's mouth hang open at what the hell had just happened.

Archie said nothing, he didn't have to. His shoulders rose and fell with every breath and suddenly his face crumbled away into the interior, vulnerable boy I'd known since I was five years old. He fell forwards onto my shoulder and collapsed into rasping sobs – two days' worth of torture, grief and lack of answers. I threw my arms around him and tried to hold on as firmly as I could. He cried for what felt like hours, but the work of a few painfully slow minutes. My shoulder was soaked through with his tears, but a wrinkled wet shirt was the least of my problems.

I caught Jughead's gaze, he looked as if he was struggling with his thoughts and wrestling with something internally. The crisis soon passed and his face smoothed out. He put a hand on Archie's shoulder.

"I'm going to find out what really happened, bud." He spoke with a confidence that etched across his whole face, transforming him before my eyes into a teenager that had a clear goal in life, along with the entire football team who all wore the same expression.

"It's a police matter, Jug." I murmured.

"So was Jason," he shrugged, knowing very well that I had no grounds to argue. "Look where we got with that, Betty. Without us, the police may not have found out the whole truth. Polly would still be locked up in Camp Crazy, awaiting to give her baby up for adoption." 

Well and truly defeated, I let the matter drop. There would be no point in arguing with Jughead when he had his justice mode activated. Archie finally resurfaced from his emotional break down, catching Jughead in a brief embrace and wiping his eyes on his bare arms, breathing deeply and sniffing.

"I really appreciate you guys coming today," he looked from one of us to the other. "I'm sorry I was such a dick." No longer slurring, he looked genuinely shocked at his own behaviour.

"Archie, I'm so sor-…"

"Save it, Betty," he smiled and touched his cheek. "It's fine, I deserved it," 

"We forgive you," Jughead smirked and slipped his arms around my shoulders. "But you do owe my girl and I, some seriously burger loving." 

"Milkshakes too, extra cream." I chanced, holding onto his arm with both of mine. Archie nodded slowly, accepting his debt. I decided against suggesting we go to Pop's as soon as it opened back up. I seriously doubted it would be a long time before any of us would ever set foot in our neon castle again.

We decided to let Archie and his mother have their privacy and sporadic naps, after a quick cup of coffee and polite chat. If she heard our outburst episode with Arche in his hotel room, she was careful enough not to mention it and prod further. She looked just as exhausted as her son, mirroring the same harrowed, empty expression.

Escaping the suspicious eyes of the haughty hotel receptionist who was busy painting her nails an offensive pink colour, we stepped out unhindered back into the cool outside and automatically linked arms as we walked. We easily retraced our steps back along the route we'd taken earlier that morning, under the dark grey afternoon sky.

"What do you want to do today, Betts?" Jug murmured, breath visibly dancing around us. I gave a small, uncontrollable smile, heart dancing at the sound of my special nickname that was only spoken from his lips. It sounded so right and exciting, peeling away the specs of guilt at striking Archie earlier that hung with me. Jug made me feel to special, so wanted, so forgiven. I didn't need to feel perfect with him. For once in my life, I was happy.

"Since we both skipped school, we can't exactly go home. We've got a few hours to kill yet." 

Jug grinned, glancing sideways as me as we walked. He broke away from my arm and rummaged around in his fur-lined jacket pocket, grabbing what he was looking for and slipped it into my fingers.

I stopped, my fingers uncurled to reveal a shiny brass key sat in the middle of my palm, a stark contrast to the deep fingernail cuts around it. Jughead breathed sharply at the sight of the wounds.

"It's totally a new Ferrari, right?" I joked, not even wanting to address to self-harming issue the current point in time. There would be plenty of time for a lecture.

"That comes later," he rolled his eyes. "For now, Betty Cooper, I present you with your very own key to my kingdom. I had it cut after I saw my Dad yesterday." 

My mouth opened in shock. "Oh my god, Jug? When can I move in?" I threw my arms around his broad shoulders, shrieking in excitement and planted a kiss on his neck. He shuddered in delight. For the first time, I'd ever had the opportunity to witness a red blush streaked across his cheeks, a further sign that this was a very deep and personal step for Jughead Jones.

"As soon as you're eighteen and legal to move out without your Mom interrupting us every single chance she gets. Until then, you're welcome to come and go as you please." His lips fell into a playful smile and he moved the stray hair away from my face.

"It's perfect, Juggie..." I murmured, pocketing the key and having trouble containing the emotion in my voice. It was one of those pure and innocent moments that we only shared when we were alone. It had obviously taken a lot of thought on his part and thoughtfulness. Definitely the best gift I'd ever received from anyone.

"I'm going back to the trailer on my birthday," he said quietly, dark eyes twinkling. "Temporarily. I'm going to save some money up and get my own place. I want you there too. Dad can move back into the trailer after the many years that'll drip by," he sighed. "Mom and Jellybean are staying in Tuleta. I don't think they're coming back."

"Do you wish you went with them?" I cocked my head.

"I do in a way," he paused, thoughtful for the briefest of moments. "However, the past year hasn't _totally_ sucked for me." He rubbed my fingers gently with his own and squeezed.

"Thank you for the key, Juggie. It means a lot." I certainly looked forward to escaping to our own private tin heaven when life reared its ugly head and threatened to suck me in, which I estimated would be a fair amount within the next 12 months. The trailer felt just as much as home to me, as my very own house, in all of its own comfortable chic glory. I was excited at the prospect of a proper future with Jughead Jones and all of the possibilities for us. Left entirely to our own devices, together as one.

"Let's go back to the trailer, now." I suggested. Jughead met my sweet smouldering gaze, a smile stretched slowly across his perfect features. He traced my collarbone delicately with his fingertips, resting on the base of my neck. I was increasingly thankful that we were on a quiet, tree lined road away from public view as we had our moment.

He leaned down and trailed kisses up to my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. I could feel the smug bastard smiling on my skin. "Let's go. I'm sure we can easily kill a few hours."


	5. 5 - Jughead

**Chp. 5 – Jughead.**

The days melted into weeks and before we knew it, the violent bright lights and shrieking jingles were once again cast upon our little town as we entered the Christmas period. Although the town was ceremoniously drowned in tinsel and fairy lights, it couldn't cover up the public unrest following Fred's murder, with the assailant all but disappearing into thin air, leaving no scrap of traceable DNA at the scene. Rumblings and rumours flew around like town like rabid vampire bats, dividing opinions between friends and families. Fred was undeniably a town treasure, everyone's friend. And everybody wanted to share their point of view on the situation.

Pop's was still closed as Keller had ordered a further forensic sweep and tests, desperate for a lead as the mayor pressed down on him hard, her looming re-election campaign at risk. For a seemingly public execution, there were no answers available and no one felt that harder more than my best pal, Archie. Who had folded himself into a ball of suppressed anger and grief.

The funeral was small but well publicised, with at least half of the town showing up to be unified in condolences. There was a lot of tears and memories shared along with vast amounts of alcohol consumed. Alice Cooper even managed to attend for the entire day without offending anyone, a sheer miracle in itself.

It was a chilly day accompanied by a thick, heavy wind; but no one had their mind on the failing weather. As the coffin was carried into the church and placed on its stand at the front of the building, a tear stained Mary Andrews set a framed photo of a younger, spirited looking Fred on top of it.

We'd barely heard two words from Archie during the day and I was honestly terrified to look at him in the eyes and see someone looking back I barely knew, a shell of my best friend. He was going through the worst thing imaginable and all I could do was simply 'be there' as always, the friend with witty remarks and bad family problems. But that guy couldn't help Archie, who clenched his fists and glared at the floor the entire ceremony.

"He's hurting, Jug," Betty reminded me that day. "He needs time and space to deal." 

Veronica suffered more with the radio silence than we did. Her new boyfriend had refused to say more than a few syllables to her and did everything he could to avoid a direct confrontation. She was in love, had slept with him and now was left out in limbo, gliding along with the rest of us as he continued to shut us out. Still, I took Betty's words and gave him space.

Mary Andrews had taken the initiative to rent out her property in Chicago and move into the Andrews' household, so Archie could finish school before deciding what to do with the rest of his life. She had channelled her own grief into finding the Riverdale Bugle's secret informant, who had sold them the entire story and disappeared, before the police even had time to work out what had happened themselves.

My mind began to start to piece together possible ways that we could begin another murder board, since the last one was such a success. Annoyingly, my detective partner in crime still resided comfortably within Riverdale High, so I used the empty wall space in my bedroom at the trailer to make do. Betty had placed the Bugle's photo of a younger Fred and Archie on his knee, in the middle. We'd reluctantly only pinned two leads – the Lodge's and the Serpent's. There were no other viable ways we could begin from.

I had a thought, stemming and growling in speed since we first saw Archie in the hotel, a few days after the murder. It was a complicated idea, with many possible paths and scenarios. At first, it was fleeting and easy to dispel. But after so many weeks of no progress, no news and a steadily declining Archie, the thought was growing bigger and drowning everything else out, leaving me with not many options left.

It was simple; take the Serpent's up on their offer and join them to find out what really happened to Fred Andrews.

There was no guarantee that they would even know anything. But the gang were notorious for their wealth of information and in no way, would divulge anything to anyone, not even their leader's wayward son. I needed to get into the thick of it and earn their trust, get a solid lead. I would be killing two birds with one stone. I'd be helping to get justice for Archie and prove to myself and everyone else, that the gang were innocent like I believed.

But it was dangerous, stupid and definitely not a method that Betty would approve of.

"Shit." I sighed. The girl who usually sat in front during Chemistry, turned around to face me and scowled, making a sharp shushing sound. She turned back to the lecture, happily ignoring my inner crisis.

Beside me, Joaquin was busy constructing some kind of origami swan, failing miserably and left with a fat chicken-like shape. He groaned, tossing the thing aside and resumed a bored expression. Seeing me smirk at his expense, he flicked it across the table with his pen.

"Damn stupid things, Kev said they were easy." He muttered.

"Kevin Keller has the hands of a delicate butterfly," I reminded him. "What that the periodic table you just screwed up?" 

"I don't need no scientific qualifications to stay in the Serpents." He whispered, winking.

I nodded, turning back to the lecture. "How come you came back to Riverdale? Last time I heard, you were in San Junipero." 

"Went to visit my Mom for a few months," he murmured. "She's sick. Terminal. Sometimes I take some money back for her." 

"Sorry to hear that, man." 

He shrugged. "Death, man. It's not like no one's ever been there before. Kevin doesn't know though, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him." 

"Why?" I frowned.

"You know what Kev's like," he rolled his eyes. "He'll march down there with a thousand roses and demand to meet her. Some people just want to die peacefully on their own, ya know? She's happy thinking that I got a girl back home. I'm not about to come out to her on her death bed." 

"That's rough, dude." I sighed.

Joaquin nodded, toying with the failed origami swan. He turned to me. "You told your Mom about Betty yet?"

"No," I snorted. "She'd probably say; 'Jughead who?' followed by some insult about the Coopers. She's not a social butterfly, she hates people. She moved to Tuleta with my sister over a year ago, it's got a population of about 200 people or something." 

"She'll come back for you one day," Joaquin said firmly. "Especially when FP goes to trial."

"I don't think she will somehow," I disagreed. "They don't get on well. She's probably throwing some kind of party in celebration."

He snorted. "Parents are the worst."

"Tell me about it." I muttered.

I briefly fought with myself for wanting to confide to Joaquin about possibly joining the gang and what to expect. But I kept my mouth shut, bit my lip and returned back to the Chemistry lecture to resume my inner argument.

Southside High was not nearly as tragic as I first imagined it to be. Strangely, some of the kids stopped to say hi to me in the halls and nod their heads in respect as I walked aimlessly through the school, deep in my headphones. The popular crowd left me alone with not even so much as a wayward glare. I suspected all of this was due to the fact that my father was the ringleader of the region's most powerful street gang and by default, I was off limits and not to be messed with.

I was completely out of my depth at the contrast of Riverdale High. Here, the social divide between jock and nerd was not nearly as defined. Brief outbursts of violence occurred often and randomly, but they were over in a matter of minutes and ended with a fist bump and both parties moving away. Everyone wore the same expression of tiredness and contempt, many adorned with multiple tattoos and piercings. Even the teachers were pretty cool and laid back.

As weird as it was, I felt as if I actually belonged here more, in this grungy hell pool with the rest of the lower class. None of us knew or pretended to be anything more than we were. Bullshit wasn't tolerated.

Shockingly, I'd even managed to find a group of people to hang out with, that appreciated my sardonic humour. One of which was my new foster brother – Daniel and his friends; Dom, Reya and Darwin.

I bustled through the heaving crowd to our usual lunch table and set down my tray, taking a seat on the end. A couple of kids sharing the table, got up immediately and gathered their things quietly, nodding at me in greeting and moved away to another seat. I sighed and began throwing down the Friday morning special – double cheeseburger and fries.

As soon as I'd begun eating, Daniel Matthews steered around the table and grabbed a handful, taking the seat opposite me. He grinned.

"Jugface." He greeted.

"Daniel," I replied. "Did anyone tell you that fries make you fat?" 

"Damn, too late for that now," he patted his stomach appreciatively. "The snakes have got their eyes on you again today, I see." He nodded towards the table in the corner, where Joaquin and his friends were speaking quietly and glancing over at us. Daniel smiled and mocked a friendly wave in their direction.

"What do you expect?" I muttered.

"I feel privileged to be sat at the table of the great Serpent heir," Daniel laughed. "I reckon they'll kidnap you soon if you don't join." He helped himself to another fry.

"Keep your voice down," I warned. "I don't want everyone to know-..."

"Newsflash; they already do. You're a new celebrity around here," he paused. "That everyone fears."

I sighed. "Jeez, okay." I chanced another glance over at the snakes, who had gone back to their day and were laughing about something Joaquin had said. I noticed how much they resembled a big dysfunctional family, staying fiercely loyal to one another, zero concerns plaguing them.

After last period, I headed straight back to the foster home. It was now late December and the air hung heavily around me as I walked briskly through the soft snow, flakes drifting around my head and clinging to my beanie. I much preferred winter to summer, everything looked so much more innocent blanketed in white. As beautiful as the town looked at this time of year, accompanied by thousands of decorations and fairly lights – nothing could hide the betrayal, secrets and murder that the town hid underneath it all.

Later in the evening, I received a text from Betty to announce that she and Mary were planning a huge Christmas day for friends and family, and to cancel any plans I had. A few minutes later, she rang me to check I'd read it.

"Christmas party for Archie, got it." I confirmed.

"Good," she said, satisfied down the phone. "You're definitely coming, right?" 

"Not if it's a surprise party," I joked. "Archie actually _knows_ that this is happening, right? You and Mary haven't gone behind his back?" 

"Of course not," she reasoned. "Apparently he's agreed – which is great. He's barely talked to anyone for two months and I'm worried about him. It'll be his first Christmas without his Dad, so I thought it would be nice to celebrate altogether." 

"Could be, hopefully he doesn't think it's a ruse for him to talk to everyone?" I entered the front door, took of my coat and shoes and headed straight upstairs.

"That's exactly what this is. A friendly non-frientervention. But he doesn't know it. We'll support him even if he doesn't want to be supported." 

"Whatever happened to giving him space?" I muttered, walking through to my bedroom and sinking back onto the fresh-smelling bed.

She sighed. "It's a special occasion and I don't want him to be alone. I also don't want _you_ to be alone either, so don't pretend you are busy Christmas day." 

Damn, she'd sussed me.

"I promise I will come. And I could've had plans."

"You don't," she said flatly. "And you would have lied to me so I wouldn't worry." 

"Yes, Nancy Drew, that's right. You got me."

I swear I could hear her smiling down the line. "I know you, Juggie. Christmas Day is on Sunday so we'll have to get there in the morning. I figured that we could… Stay together tomorrow night?" She fell silent, apprehensive I'd say no.

"An all-nighter eh? I don't know, are we ready for that?" I laughed, glad she couldn't see me blush.

"If you want to." She murmured.

"I do want to, that's not even much of a question. I want to spend as much time with you as possible, especially since I'm down South now." I breathed, heart hammering at the thought of sharing a bed with her properly once again.

"Tomorrow then," she confirmed. "I'll be there late afternoon." 

"Tomorrow." I whispered as we both hung up.

Friday evening melted away into Saturday morning and the house was alive with movement, something unheard of on this particular household so early on a weekend. Mrs Matthews and Daniel were driving to Maine to spend Christmas with family and she had commanded him to start shifting their bags out to the car. 

"Slavery is now illegal; might I remind you." He scowled and picked up her huge duffel bag, heaving it outside.

"Cry me a river, kid," his mother signed and rifled through her shoulder bag. She handed me some cash. "Last chance to change your mind, Jughead?" 

"As much as I would love to hang out at someone's random house for Christmas," I began. "Afraid not. I've got plans actually. Plus the party doesn't start until you're gone, so…" 

She smirked. "Thank God I don't need to worry about anything like that. Make sure you buy yourself some food with that money and I've added extra for emergencies. I've left a list of numbers on the fridge that you can reach us with." She paused, trying to rack her brain for any other details to remind me with. 

I rolled my eyes. "I'll be fine. You better go now or you'll hit traffic." 

"Be good, Forsythe. Okay? We'll be back on Tuesday." She winked and shouldered her bag, waving her fingers out of the door.

Freedom and independence being nothing new to me, I was confident that I would be fine. Besides, I wasn't doomed to spend this Christmas alone or sat across the table from an unhappy family, so it would probably be one of the more better years to remember. More importantly, it would be the first time I'd be spending it with a girlfriend, which led me to my next issue; what would I get her as a Christmas present? 

I began to head over the trailer with my bag in the late afternoon, exhausted from dodging exuberant Christmas shoppers all day whilst I trailed in and out of several shops, trying to locate the perfect gift. It was a terrifying experience that left me doused in worry and self-doubt, but I was happy with what I'd bought. I sub-consciously touched the package in my coat pocket for reassurance.

Opening the trailer door, I was hit by a wave of heat that washed through me, shaking out the cold in seconds. I gratefully de-coated and hung it next to my new leather jacket on the rack.

"Juggie." Betty appeared from within the small kitchen and hurried forwards, planting a kiss on my lips. I gladly took it. She stepped back and I noticed that she was cooking, wearing nothing but one of my old shirts, hair up in a messy bun.

I couldn't stop the involuntary smile that stretched across my lips as I grabbed her up into my arms and held her thighs. She squealed and giggled.

"I can't – not now. I've got something in the oven for dinner!" 

"How long?" I muttered gruffly, lips finding the bare skin on her neck. She shivered.

"About 30 minutes?" She hazarded a guess.

"That'll do." I announced and proceeded to carry her towards my bedroom as we kissed hungrily.

I jolted awake from one of the best dreams I'd had in years. I could say this with honest certainty, as I didn't have many good memorable times I could happily refer back to. As little Forsythe Pendleton III, all that mattered used to revolve around comic books and burgers. Now as a functioning pre-adult, it was more complicated matters such as; love, happiness, fulfilment, etc.

My dream was an old memory of ten years ago. Jellybean and I were on a day trip to the beach and were hunting in the shallow pools for crabs with our plastic spades and buckets. I remember looking over to see my parents laying happily beside each other on a huge beach towel sharing sea food, laughing together.

It was a simple memory of a young boy and I yearned deep down to feel the heat of that summer once again, back when life was black and white, so much simpler than the mess I was in today.

The wintery season continued to drown Riverdale in cold misery. But I was happy, safe inside my trailer. It was strange to think that I was _safe_. But it felt right. One of my reasons for living, curled up in the sheets next to me, stirring quietly as she was caught in a deep dream and digging her head further into my chest, fingers delicately brushing my naked stomach.

I yawned and looked at my phone; it was seven in the morning.

She looked so at peace that I was reluctant to destroy whatever good dream she was blessed with. I nuzzled her neck gently with my nose and trailed chaste kisses across her shoulders.

"I need sleep, Juggie." She moaned, kicking me lightly in the shin.

I smirked against her bare shoulder.

The silence was peaceful as I laid back and allowed the calmness to fill me up, taking in every second of this perfect moment of my girl laying in my arms, in our own world with no one else around to interrupt.

However, I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt of not discussing my brief idea of investigation as a Serpent. I knew she would be hurt, knowing I'd been sitting on my thoughts for two months, turning over and over in my head without even so much as a mention.

There was a lot to play for and I risked everything I'd built as the cost of getting answers that I wasn't even sure would be available. I was holding out and treading water for as long as I possibly could, hoping the police would have found a solid lead and built a case by now. The Serpent's offer wouldn't last forever and Archie, I feared would not having long left before he did something drastic, full on vengeful Bruce Wayne style.

Whatever I chose, the gap was closing in and threatening to swallow us all into complete darkness. We were all past the point of waiting for the adults around us to rally, Cheryl proved this by taking matters into her own hands. We all did.

"Betty, can we talk?" I blurted.

She stirred next to me, blue eyes fluttering open. She smiled. "What's on your mind?" 

I paused, unable to find the right words as she stared sleepily at me, eyelids heavy. "It's nothing. I just wanted to know what time we had to be at Archie's today." 

A couple of hours later, we dressed quickly and wolfed down a bowl of cereal each, cleaned up and left the trailer. The air outside was crisp and thin, early morning frost still clung to the grass under our crunchy footsteps. The surrounding world was bathed in a low mist creeping across the landscape, with the low sun hidden behind the clouds. It was the most perfect Christmas morning I think I'd ever had.

The day's proceedings involved us, along with other friends and family – bombarding Archie's house during the day with rainbows and happiness, in which people would leave in the evening to spend Christmas night at home with their families. I had no special plans, figuring I would sneak out a few scraps of Christmas dinner and smuggle them in to see my father later. The police station would most definitely still be open.

The town was mostly eerily silent for an early morning in Riverdale. I imagined that most of the residents would be just waking up to the sounds of excited children wanting to open their presents. One year, I recalled Jellybean kicking me out of my bed so I could go and wake our parents up, she was too scared and didn't want to get in trouble. But Dad loved his little princess and always made sure that she was well taken care of. I didn't see it as clearly then, but he loved me too, I knew that deep down. It took me years. He was currently sitting in a jail cell because of his love for me.

"Betty, Jughead!" Someone called.

We turned to see Veronica stepping out of the revolving doors of the Pembrook as we passed by. She turned to say something to her manservant and crossed the road over to us. She was wearing something that looked horrendously like a faux bear skin coat and a matching hat.

"Hey girl," she greeted warmly and enveloped Betty in her heavily perfumed state. She turned to me and stopped. "I'm not sure I forgive you yet, Juggiekins." 

"Let it go, Veronica," I groaned. Betty smiled. "That was _two_ months ago. Arch wasn't ready to see many people."

"Ah, but you didn't fight my case, did you?" She waggled her finger. "Feel privileged I'm even letting you continue to corrupt my B." She winked at her friend.

We began walking again in a line. My fingers were interlaced with Betty and her other arm linked with Veronica's.

"Have you heard much from Arch?" Betty glanced sideways. The corners of Veronica's mouth turned down slightly before resuming back to normal in the blink of an eye.

"Here and there. I think we're kind of taking a break at the moment, so he has time to process what happened. It's totally fine." Her tone screamed bright and breezy, but she wasn't fooling anyone. Veronica Lodge was secretly falling apart just as much as the rest of us, even if the cracks hadn't started to show on her face.

"Archie is resilient. He'll deal with it in his own time." I muttered. The words didn't even sound real to my own ears, let alone to anyone else.

Turning into Betty's street, we began to head towards Archie's house and instead, found the house with alive with twinkling fairy lights strung carefully across the entire length of the porch in perfect placement.

At once it was obvious that Fred Andrews was not present for Christmas, he had his own imperfect way of throwing them up and hoping they would stay placed for the whole of December and New Year. Mary had also decided to place wire reindeer statues in the corner side of the porch and a couple more, grazing out on the lawn alongside small statuettes of presents. A huge wreath of Holly sat neatly on the door, below a neatly nailed 'Merry Christmas' sign.

"Are we at the right house?" Veronica muttered, mirroring my surprise at the sheer perfection of everything. She looked alarmingly from Betty to me.

"Looks like it." I muttered.

Betty nodded and blinked slowly, turning to her friend. "Ronnie, just remember not to be too offended if Archie isn't overly happy to see us all. It's nothing personal." 

She rolled her eyes. "I get the picture, B – at arms length. Like a python. Got it. You want to knock Jughead? I'm freezing." She wiggled legs for emphasis, it amused me that she'd made the effort with the scary looking coat and hat, pairing them with bare legs. I turned and rapped my knuckles on the door.

There were a few seconds before the sound of heels greeted us with a warm smile. At once, the smell of cookies and other baked goods, filled our noses and instantly soothed any apprehension we had.

"Hey kids, come on in." Mary stood aside, wiping her hands on her apron. We didn't need to be told twice, the morning air was dropping bitterly colder by the minute. "You guys are pretty early! I was just getting some things into the oven and setting up." She smiled, not one perfect hair out of place.

The house was just barely recognisable as Archie's residence. Everything was so clean and homely where Mary had moved right back into his life and commandeered every item in the house. Sitting on top of the fire place, was the framed photo of Fred grinning widely, that was placed on top of his coffin during the funeral. Betty and Veronica followed Mary into the kitchen, I stepped into the living room. Fred's usual chair still resided in the corner of the room in front of the television, looking untouched.

A strange choking feeling rose up in my throat and a wave of guilt hit me. It felt like Fred's eyes followed me around the room, demanding to know why I hadn't tried to help my best friend out of the hole he'd fallen into. The house was dressed up, but still felt like a living grave.

The guest of honour himself, arrived downstairs and stared at me, hands in his pockets.

"Happy Christmas brother." I murmured

"Is it?" he inhaled deeply and skipped the last two stairs. "Sorry Jug, I'm not used to my Mom taking over the house just yet." He flicked the mistletoe above the doorway and snorted.

"Yeah, she went all out, huh? She asked you about this party thing today before going ahead, right?" 

He nodded. "She did. Said it was Betty's idea initially. I said; 'why the hell not?' It sure beats sitting in my bedroom in the dark," he smiled weakly, not quite touching his eyes. "I'm really sorry I haven't been getting back to your messages." 

I flicked my arm, deflecting the apology. "Don't even worry about it." 

"I just…" He paused and moved his lips, struggling to find the right words. I just wish I could understand what happened, and why? You know?" 

I nodded slowly. "Yeah man, I do. You know I'm here for you, if you need to talk or hug, or whatever," I indicated towards the mistletoe he was standing beneath. "I'm not kissing you though, pal." 

"Agreed. And thanks. I know I can talk to you." His rubbed his chin with a hand. I noticed that there was a hint of auburn stubble coming through.

Veronica entered the room, intent on concentrating on the huge tray she was carrying, adorned with snacks. Catching sight of her boyfriend, she set the tray down on the coffee table with a loud clank and rose up, wiping herself down.

"Archie, how are you?" She breathed. I'd never imagined Veronica to ever be nervous before. But here she was, clasping her hands together and digging at one of her nails like a star struck teenager.

"Okay, thanks Ron. You?"

"Good," she replied curtly. "Betts told me about all this. Figured it could be fun." Her face however said the completely opposite. From the sheer awkwardness of the conversation, I deduced that this was the first face to face conversation they'd had since the funeral.

"I'll uh, give you guys some privacy." I muttered, ducking out of the room before they could pull me back..

As the morning progressed, the house began to fill up with familiar faces. Kevin, Sheriff Keller and Joaquin were among the first to arrive, followed by Josie, Melody, Valerie and her brother – Trey. Cheryl turned up looking suitably more like herself and presented Mary rather proudly, with her first attempt at a burned macaroni cheese. Even Reggie and a few other nameless jocks from the football team appeared at the door, looking sheepish.

"We've not been great friends this year," Reggie apologised. "But Archie is our brother. We can leave if we aren't welcome?" He glanced up at me, looking concerned I would slam the door in his face.

"Don't be silly," Betty moved around me and took the wrapped gift from his hands. "Come on in." 

Polly and her parents were the next to arrive, baring more baked goods. Hal Cooper immediately looked me up and down with pure predjudice, still sore from the wounds Jason had inflicted on the family and firmly believing that both his daughters should never approach another boy, ever again.

"Oh, look Alice. It's the boy defiling our daughter." He said flatly as I opened the door.

"Hey Mr and Mrs Cooper. Polly." I nodded in greeting, resisting the urge to mutter; _she loves it_ , when Hal pushed past me into the house.

Alice's lips pursed at the sight of her retreating husband. She handed me a covered dish and attempted some sort of friendly smile.

"Hello Jughead, how's your father doing?"

"Mom," Polly snapped. "Super insensitive. It's _Christmas_." She rolled her eyes dramatically and moved her hands protectively across her bulging stomach. Alice blinked slowly, as if trying to compute exactly what she did wrong.

"Right, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." And she looked as if she really meant it. Since embracing her unborn grandchildren, Alice Cooper had lost her notorious venomous edge and was beginning to understand what boundaries not to cross, less inclined to cause chaos wherever she went. Polly smile at her encouragingly and went to join the festivities.

I closed the front door and set the dish down onto the side cabinet. Betty's Mom hovered awkwardly next to me, looking at the decorations with a critical eye.

"He's okay," I replied to her earlier question. "He wishes he could be out for Christmas, but you know. He'll get over it." 

She nodded, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "FP and I used to hang out a lot at school. We fell out about something once, had a major argument. He apologised by stealing this disgustingly awful ceramic gnome from a neighbour's garden and presenting it to me," she laughed, a sound I hadn't heard from her before. "Of course we fell out again years later, haven't really spoken since." 

"I never knew that," I confessed. "I don't think he would that ever done that for my Mom." 

She cocked her head to the side and flicked her hand. "Maybe, but he loved your Mom more than anything." She fell silent, eyes glazing over as if remembering a distant memory.

"Mrs Cooper?"

"Alice," she whispered. "Call me Alice. Not in front of Hal, he'll kick your ass."

"He hates me anyway." 

"He hates all teenage boys," she sighed. "Anyone who could be a potential threat to Polly and Betty," she narrowed her eyes. "But don't think I won't either. If you ever hurt Betty, I'm coming for you, Jones." Snapping back to her normal self, she sauntered over to the kitchen to chat with Mary.

After Hermione showed up late, flustered and apologetic – Mary began serving the huge Christmas dinner on a dozen silver dishes, spread across the entire extended dining room table. Someone had grabbed extra chairs from the den and added them to the end in order to cope with a bulging room of guests.

It was completely new to me, sitting down to a such a huge spread, shared with so many faces around the table. As grimly cynical as I was, there was something special about sitting among everyone, enthusiastically chatting with the clanking of plates and cutlery. Before we ate, Archie rose to his feet and cleared his throat, silence swept across the table.

"I just wanted to thank everyone for coming today," he paused, take the time to look at each of our faces individually. "Obviously there is someone missing from this picture. But he would've thought it was pretty cool for everyone to come together like this, in his memory. If everyone could raise a glass for my Dad today." He raised his own, followed suit by the rest of the table who murmured a unanimous; "For Fred." 

"Also," Archie continued. He looked a Cheryl who was situated a few seats away, gazing off into the distance. "Someone else should be here this Christmas. Someone also taken far beyond their time: For Jason."

"For Jason." Everyone muttered. Polly dabbed at the corner of her eyes. She and Cheryl shared a weak smile.

Betty's hand slid into mind under the table, I glanced at her. "For FP." She whispered, taking a sip of her drink. Refusing to the emotional, I kissed her head and murmured; "For my Dad." 

"Dig in your guys," Mary sniffed. "Let's not let anything go to waste." 

"Thank God," Kevin leaned over and muttered on my other side. "If the next one was going to be for Grundy, I'd have walked out."

After dinner, everyone helped to clear away the table into the large dishwasher. Mary tried to wrestle a few Tupperware boxes of leftovers into my hands and insisted that she was worried my foster family wasn't feeding me well enough.

The afternoon was beginning to melt away into the evening. Someone has found the sound system and turned it on. Mary insisted on pulling open the alcohol stashes.

I opened the back door to the garden for some fresh air and found Betty sat on the decking, dangling her legs off the wood and staring up at the moon. I moved to her side and sank down next to her. She smelled suspiciously like the wine Mary was dishing out.

"I think I'm a little drunk, Juggie," she giggled. "My mom's going to kill me." 

"You'll have to wait, I just saw your Dad drag her away from the alcohol cabinet."

She laughed, a gorgeous airy sound. "This was such a great idea." 

"That reminds me," I muttered, fishing around in my jacket to locate the small package. I pulled it out and handed it to her. "There you go, Happy Christmas." 

Her eyes widened, swaying slightly. "Juggie – you shouldn't have. I really wasn't expecting-…" 

"Go on." I urged. She gingerly began to unwrap the purple tissue paper and string. Awaiting inside was a velvet box. She prised it open and gasped, pulling out the delicate silver locket I'd spend hours looking for the day before. Holding it up in her hands, it gleamed against the orange light of the outdoor lamp behind us. Gently tugging at the clasp, it swung open to reveal the small photo I'd placed in there. The exact same one I had on my bedside table.

She gaped. "Oh my god, Jughead. This is gorgeous." 

"You like it?" I cocked my head, smiling.

"I love it," she breathed and leaned forwards, moving her lips softly against my own. "It's so perfect." 

"Here." I gestured for her to move closer. She bundled her curly blonde locks into one hand and moved it all out of the way so I could secure the clasp around her neck. It was a perfect fit. She touched it gently.

"I love you, Jughead Jones." Her mouth widened into the most beautiful smile I'd even seen, that lit up her eyes. My heart hammered against my chest and I leaned forward to kiss her, hands slipping across her face to cup her cheeks. She arched her body round to face me and wound her arms around my neck, deepening the kiss further to which I gratefully obliged. The evening must have been freezing, judging by the forming ice on the grass, but we didn't feel it.

"I've left your present on your pillow, at home." She whispered against my lips.

"Home?"

"Our home," she corrected herself. "Not officially yet, but one day." 

"You have no idea how much that excites my cold little heart, Cooper." I smirked. We huddled together on the decking, holding hands and bracing against the wind that was picking up. The silence out here was perfect, compared to the dull thrumming of music indoors. I made a snap decision that I really didn't want to make.

"Betty, can we talk?" 

"Of course," she murmured against my shoulder. "What's up?" 

I inhaled the crisp air deeply and gazed down the dark garden, worried I would lose my nerve before even having the chance to explain. My heart was thudding again, for an entirely different reason. My mouth was dry.

"Betty, I…" I choked. "I want to start investigating what happened to Fred properly – since we did so well with Jason. It's been two months now and _nothing_." 

She narrowed her eyes. "The police are getting nowhere, no leads, no clues." 

"Exactly. But what if there was something I could possibly do, to try and get answers? If you were in that position, you would do anything to try and help Archie anyway you could, wouldn't you?" I stared intently at her, she slowly nodded. She wasn't quite sure of what to make of this yet.

I rubber her fingers back and forth. "I have an opportunity to try and find out what really happened. I think I need to take it." 

"Okay hang on," she held up her hand. "What are you trying to say, Juggie?" She furrowed her brows in confusion, all traces of alcohol now gone.

"Well," I cleared my throat. "The South Side Serpent's have eyes and ears everywhere. I'm betting that they know _something_ about Fred's murder. I have an open invitation to join them Betty. I could go to them and try and figure this whole thing out." 

A wave of emotion crossed her face ranging from incredulous to shocked, to angry, to hurt. She hung her head for a moment and pulled her hands away from mine to massage her temples. The minutes ticked by slowly as she processed the information. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted quietly.

Finally resurfacing, she frowned. "That is the craziest idea I've ever heard. And we've had a few." 

"I know, bu-…"

"Are you crazy?" She hissed. "Do you have any idea how dangerous and stupid that is? Jeez Jughead, we're talking about a notorious street gang, not _Dilton Doiley's Scouts_!"

"I would be fine," I pressed. "This is the only chance we could get, for more information. Anything." 

"The police-…"

"-… Have nothing," I finished. "You even said it yourself. Archie is hurting and no matter how many times we tell ourselves that he'll be okay – he won't. Not until he has justice."

"We aren't detectives, Jughead. There's a real chance you could get yourself hurt or _worse_ , asking questions to the wrong people," she gestured wildly and jumped to her feet, "I can't believe this is even up for discussion." 

I joined her standing up, placing my hands firmly on her shoulders. "Archie is falling, we both know that. One day he is going to snap, go searching for answers himself and end up getting himself into trouble again. You remember when he took off to the White Wyrm?" 

She threw my hands off. "Jughead – you are talking about joining a _gang_ , not a club. This is a lifestyle choice. You won't be able to just walk away when it's all over. What if nothing happens? What if Fred was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, during a robbery?"

"They won't hurt me," I said quietly. "That I'm sure of. But Betts, I've got to take this chance. It's a massive gamble, but if there's even a chance of helping my best friend move on... Man, I need to do this."

"You don't know that," she whispered, eyes brimming with tears. "Jason found out the hard way."

"The action of only a few. They splintered off from the main group, under Mr. Blossom's influence." I stepped forwards slowly, desperate for her to calm down before someone else decided to investigate the source of arguing.

"I promised to keep you safe, to your Dad." She sniffed, turning away.

"That's my job." A smile ghosted my lips. "Betty, this isn't a suicide mission. I fully intend to survive this. I said I wanted to live together with you," I found her fingers again, interlacing them and moved closer. "Marry you, have a family one day maybe. Whatever you want." I leaned down to plant a kiss on her head. She snatched herself away from me.

"What I want," she spat. "Is for this stupid civil war not to come between us. Riverdale is changing. We all feel it. It's only going to get worse and I don't want you to get mixed up in it all!" 

"Bett-…" 

She held up her hand, stopping me. "I need to go home now, Jughead." Without another word or sideways glance at me, she sailed back into the house with a slam, leaving me in the cold darkness, alone.


	6. 6 - Betty

**Chp. 6 – Betty.**

"Betty, you okay?"

I blinked, shaking my head out of whatever thoughts were whirling around my head, to see Kevin Keller gaze at me with concern etched across his face. I smiled weakly, resting my head on my hand.

"Sorry Kev – you were saying?" 

He sighed dramatically. "We were talking about the New Year's festival – or at least _I_ was," he took a long sip of his strawberry milkshake and made a sour face. "Ugh, I so do not rate these shakes." 

"It's all we have for the time being." I eyed the ancient décor around us, everything drenched in an off-cream colour and brown. It was a stark contrast from Pop Tate's neon kingdom and only greatly highlighted how drastic our lives had recently changed.

We were trying out various coffee shops around Riverdale, scoping for new potential hang outs until Pop's reopened its doors. The venue we selected for our morning get together, was aptly named 'coffee mugged', situated on the midway border line. It was a niche little place with regular clientele, limited booths and tables that were well aged and yellowed with years of use. The Manager stood at the front counter, eyeing the black and white television mounted on the wall, with a glazed expression. Aside from us, there was a grizzled elderly man in the corner, talking to an empty teacup and a pair of grumpy women in the corner booth.

"God, Betty. Stop pining," Kev sighed again. "You need to find your boyfriend and _talk_ to him."

"I'm not even thinking about Jughead." I said quickly. Of course, it was a complete lie. We hadn't spoken properly in five days and I was tortured by the memory of our last meeting at Christmas, desperately imagining all of the ways I could have handled the situation differently. I hadn't slept properly in days.

He'd texted me multiple times, trying to make amends and apologise for the argument. But I didn't have the mental capacity to reply or listen to his defences. Jughead had obviously thought long and hard about his idea, and I had no idea what it possibly meant for our future.

"Call him," Kevin pressed. "He's worried about you, you know. Even texted me to see if you were okay." He held up the string of messages on his phone and rose his eyebrows to accentuate his point.

"Kev, Juggie wants to join the South Side Serpent's. What am I even supposed to do with that?" 

He took my hands in his own well-moisturised ones, regarding me closely with his hazel eyes, forcing me to look reluctantly up at him.

"For starters by what you've told me – Jughead doesn't exactly _want_ to join. He's being forced to by the situation and feels that he has to do something. It's totally _insane_ Betty, but I can see where he's coming from. The lengths he'd go to, in order to help his best friend. You've got to admit, it's brave." 

"Oh my god, you're taking his side?" I muttered incredulously.

"No," he said impatiently. "I'll be your gay best friend for life. But you know that Jughead Jones has a very limited inner circle and is picky on who he lets get close to him. Think about it – his best friend, Archie, has more or less checked out. And now his own girlfriend has cut him off. That's cold." 

"So what are you saying? Just suck it up?" I demanded, the tendrils of ice cold guilt beginning to wrap themselves around me at the revelation.

"Hear him out, Betty," Kevin said quietly and rubbed my hands gently. "Make a game plan. If you really can't deal with it, let him go. Either way, it's not fair to string him along." 

"I don't want to break up with him." I said firmly. That much I was completely sure of. As much as I hated to admit it, my friend was totally right and I felt awful. Kev made sense – I had no idea how we would wade through this, but I knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't at least try.

"Joaquin would look out for him." Kev took another sip of his milkshake before making another face and pushing it away from him.

"Fine, fine," I muttered. "I'll talk to him." 

"Good," he replied brightly. "You all still need tracking devices. I don't know what you would honestly all do without me." He smiled smugly.

"Suffer greatly I'm sure," I agreed. "So you're going to the New Year festival tomorrow?" 

He nodded and gestured to himself. "You are in the company of one of the committee planners, Betts. My Dad took it upon himself to volunteer me to the mayor. It would look pretty good on college applications." 

"Wow, I'm honoured Mr. Creative Director. What have you got planned?"

"Attend and find out," he grinned. "No spoilers. Better still, you can be one of my personal flying monkeys and help me put everything together."

I rolled my eyes. "Surely I can spend some time." 

"Veronica too," he agreed. "She has a good eye for style. Swing by tomorrow late morning." 

Kevin and I said our goodbyes outside of 'Coffee Mugged' with the confirmation that we would also continue our search for a new hangout into the New Year, with better beverages. Checking my phone, I noticed that I had no new messages from Jughead begging to speak to me as of yet. I thought of the way Archie was alienating everyone and now, I was too. Kevin hit the nail on the head, Jughead had no one else. He was going through his own personal hell with a family in shreds, father going to jail and having to move in with a new foster family and school. He hid his pain so well, that it was easy to forget he was the most displaced out of all of us.

Without another thought, I changed my direction and headed straight for the Cherub trailer park, not wanting to leave our next conversation over a rushed and emotional voicemail. I'd been to his real home so many times now, it was easy to pick out the best shortcut through the woods and fields, now etched into my memory. My feet led the way without much thought as my heart hammered with anxiety. As always, the park itself was nearly devoid of life, except for a few residents shuffling around for their morning papers. Seeing a familiar face, they nodded at me in greeting. I was 'Jug's girl'.

'Our' trailer was located towards the back of the allotment on the left-hand side, taking me a little bit longer to locate, as they all looked the same. Finally successful, I slipped my key into the door and quietly stepped inside, apprehensive that he was even around.

The air was stuffy and warm, but it was heavy with his scent. Heart skipping a beat, I realised just how much I'd missed it, during our five days apart.

He wasn't in the living room or kitchen, but all the signs pointed that he was there recently. The place was a complete mess with newspapers scattered over the chairs and clothes dumped on the floor. Empty fast food packets were strewn across the kitchen surfaces.

I deflated slightly, really hoping the state of the trailer wasn't due to the after effects of me and our argument.

Padding through to his bedroom at the back, I pushed the door open quietly and found the source of the mess. He was sleeping across the top of his bed, arm draped over his eyes to block the light spilling in from his window. He was okay.

Not wanting to wake him, I set my coat and bag down by the door and gazed up towards his new makeshift murder board where new scribbles had appeared. Deciding to wait for him to wake up naturally, I made myself useful and began to clean up the trailer which also in turn, kept my mind busy.

The cleanest thing in the trailer, was a shiny professional camera set neatly on top of the shelves. I smiled inwardly, I'd spent so long researching the perfect one to get him for Christmas and completely forgot to ask him if he liked it, after the argument. Situated next to it tucked down the side, was the card I wrote to accompany the gift: _"To Jughead; I'm so in love with you. Merry Christmas, here's to one of many. Betty xxx."  
_

"Betty?" Came an incredulous voice.

I spun around to the source. Jughead stood completely shirtless by the kitchen table, hair all over the place and suitably beanie-less. He looked at me carefully, not quite sure what you make of my sudden presence.

"The one and only." I smile weakly.

"How long have you been here?" He moved his gaze slowly across the spotless trailer, eyebrows raised.

"Couple of hours maybe," I shrugged, suddenly shy. "No big deal, I didn't want to wake you." 

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," he yawned, looking as exhausted as I felt. "Although it would be super creepy if it were anyone else but you." He nervously ran his fingers through his tousled locks, not quite meeting my eyes.

"Coffee?" I gestured towards the relevant machine. It was difficult to concentrate on a train of thought, when he stood semi-naked a few steps away. He nodded slowly and sank down into one of the chairs around the table, still looking as if he was expecting an attack to spring from nowhere.

I was glad to keep my hands busy during the silence so he couldn't see how much I was apprehensively shaking.

I slid the hot drink over to him and allowed myself to sit in the opposite chair, downing a few sips to get rid of the dry feeling in my throat. He did the same, gazing into the dark swirls on top.

"I wasn't sure if you were coming back. If we were over." He said quietly, meeting my eyes for the first time.

"I'm not here to argue or yell," I began. "Truth is, I missed you. A lot actually." 

He nodded. "Ditto." A suitably more relaxed expression crossed his face and he sank down further into the chair, no longer preparing for an onslaught of abuse. "Did you get my messages?" 

"I did," I confirmed. "It was a crazy idea to come here – I didn't even think you'd be around today. But… I just wanted to apologise for everything. I was an ass, on Christmas Day of all days!"

His lips pulled into a small smile. "Still one of the best I can remember. You also don't need to say you're sorry. I dropped something huge on you." 

"Yes," I allowed. "You did. And it hurt me to hear that you've been struggling with this on your own, without even telling me." 

"Asking for help isn't my speciality," he stated, curling both fists around his coffee cup. I noticed the red edges around his knuckles of congealed blood. He sighed and mumbled. "I had to let off some steam." 

"I hope there isn't a fist imprint through the wall somewhere." I frowned.

"Don't think I can't see your palms," he warned sharply, eyes flashing. "They're torn to shreds. We all got our demons, Betty." 

There was no response I could argue tangibly with. Backing down, I took another long gulp of coffee. After a few minutes of pregnant silence, he leaned forwards and shuffled his chair around to me, kissing both of my palms individually. We were still holding hands.

"You reacted how anyone else would. It's hard for me to remember that there is someone in this world that gives a crap what happens to me." 

I was conscious that we were leaning in closer and closer together, until I could feel his laboured breath tickle my cheek. My own breath hitched in my chest.

"We can talk about it more if you want? Make a game plan of our next move." My eyes fluttered closed, an inch away from him. I could feel the air change as he smiled.

"Later," he whispered. "Let's be normal for one day at least." 

"I like that plan." Our lips met together for the first time in five days of worrying and agonising. It started gentle at first, feeling just how much both of us needed this, needed each other to survive. Two incredibly lonely hearts, joining together as one. My fingers found their way into his hair as he pulled me onto his lap, groaning softly and kissing the bare skin of my collarbone. His fingers slipped under my shirt and helped to pull it over my head, dropping it ceremoniously onto the newly cleaned floor.

Spending the afternoon rekindling our love for each other, we eventually resurfaced long enough to decide that having a movie afternoon was an entirely normal activity for two dating teens, with no serious heavy issues overshadowing them.

Jug went to collect various snacks and cans of drink from the kitchen, whilst I pulled his bed sheets onto the living room floor to create our very own paradise. Scouring the Jones's collection of DVDs, I pulled out a small pile and slipped the first disc into the player under the television. Jughead dumped his collection of junk food onto the floor and stared at the screen in confusion.

"Betty, what the hell is _Pretty Woman_?" 

"A thrilling experience for you," I smiled. "You're in for a treat, Mr Jones."

It was at some point during the early evening that we both managed to fall asleep on the floor and succumb to no sleep in five nights. My eyes fluttered awake to see the ending credits of _Pulp Fiction_. It was pitch black outside.

"Crap," I muttered and checked my phone. "Juggie, wake up." 

He rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Let's go to bed, Betty. You can wear me out." 

"Not so fast, Casanova. It's past ten. We both need to go home." I flicked the side of his head, he groaned and sat up, watching me with amusement as I hunted around for my jeans and socks.

"Betts, are you wearing my _shirt?_ "

"What?" I smirked. "Surely that's what normal girlfriends are supposed to do, right?" My hands flew to my hips in emphasis.

"We are far from normal," he began. "Take it, borrow it. Whatever you want. Just don't expect me to wear your clothes home, okay?" He slid on his fleece jacket over his bare skin and zipped it up to the top, momentarily forgetting that it was late December outside and would be freezing.

"Are you sure it's okay?" I started down at the grey shirt. His favourite one with the giant 'S' on it in black lettering.

"Hold onto it for now. Just get ready to go before I decide to keep us both here and risk the wrath of the Coopers." He located his Beanie on the kitchen counter and squashed his gorgeous dark curls into it.

Giving the trailer a quick clean before stepping out into the bitter December air outside – Jughead shivering – we began the trek back to the north, with Jughead insisting that he would escort me all the way home, despite my protests that I would be completely fine.

We intertwined our fingers together and I felt the most peaceful and happy that I'd done in days. We were together again, no bad blood or thoughts hanging over us. We'd managed to make it through our first real argument and came out of it stronger than ever. Of course, there was the small matter of the Serpents that still existed, however on Kevin's advice – we would find a way to get through this. I idly toyed with the idea of bringing it up first in conversation, but profusely enjoyed our 'normal' evening together with no ulterior motives, no sleuthing and no murder investigation.

The next morning, it was New Year's Eve and the morning of one of Riverdale's most prolific events of the year. Hundreds of residents would make their way out onto the streets and town hall, to see in the new year and wish each other a fortunate 12 months ahead. Not that anyone would have too much to say about the previous horrendous year or how much it would be missed.

I was awoken by the sound of Mom booting in my bedroom door and throwing open the curtains in renewed gusto. I stirred as light spilled across the room and onto the bed.

"Morning to you too." I muttered as she hummed tunelessly and folded away a pile of clean clothes.

"It was time for you to wake up anyway, sweetheart," she reasoned and swung open to face me, hand on hip. "Speaking of good mornings – guess what?" 

"We're moving to Europe?" I ventured.

"Don't be so silly Betty. No – you remember how the Bugle was able to report on Fred's death first? Before anyone else?"

"Vaguely." 

She clapped her hands. "Mary's tracked down the reporter, he's staying at some dodgy bar on the South Side, near the train tracks. She going to see him today and hopefully get some details from him on the murder and how he managed to leak all of the details." She finished enthusiastically. It all made sense as to why she was so _chipper_. She smelled blood in the water.

"How? He disappeared!" 

She shrugged, touching up her flawless hair in my mirror. "Karmic retribution? That's what happens when you go and decide to break press laws." Satisfied, she announced that pancakes were ready for breakfast and descended downstairs.

My first initial thought was to try and find out where this reporter was hiding – potentially having valuable information about the killer himself, as he seemed so knowledgeable and well informed. It was a long shot, but the only lead that presented itself. I would do anything to prevent the need for Jughead to join the snakes.

Leaping out of bed, I threw on some fresh clothes and tucked Jug's shirt under my pillow. I spent a few minutes pulling my hair into a ponytail and ventured after my mother.

Dad and Polly were sat opposite each other at the breakfast bar. He was engrossed in one of today's rival newspapers and Polly was reading a baby book, propped open against the milk jug. They both glanced up to say morning as I entered.

Mom was busy hunched over the stove, still humming. I grabbed an empty glass and went to pour out fresh orange juice from the pitcher next to her.

"So this reporter," I feigned interest. "How did Mary manage to find him?" 

She glanced sideways at me, smirking. "That woman has ways and means. She got wind he was back in Riverdale again."

I frowned. "Isn't that a stupid move? Surely he knows that someone might recognise him and report him to the police for press gross misconduct?" 

"He's young, I think," she muttered. "Wrote a nice juicy article that would get people interested and reaped the monetary benefits after selling it to the town rag. Anyway, he's not one of their regulars. Freelance." 

"He's probably lying low on the South Side." I reasoned carefully, grabbing the fresh stack of toast she handed me.

She snorted. "That's one way to put it. I'll bet he's South Side trash anyway. Just like the rest of them." 

"Amen." Dad muttered, eyes still scanning across his paper.

"Mary is bringing the reckoning his way. If I were him, I would run." Mom said darkly.

It was around noon by the time I reached the Midway. Pop's ghostly shadow hung over the entire deserted street, police tape flapping slowly in the wind. It wasn't very long I had to wait, before a black-haired figure appeared on the horizon, making her way over to me in thigh high black boots.

"Ronnie," I hugged her, perfume filling my nose. "Thanks for meeting me here." 

"No worries. I wouldn't leave my best gal high and dry. What are we up to? You sounded kind of cryptic on the phone." Her dark brows furrowed as she gazed at me in concern.

"Do you remember after Archie's Dad died, you went out and bought that newspaper which reported graphically on what happened? Even before the police could pull together the story?" 

She nodded slowly. "I do, but what does that have to do with now? That was months ago." 

"Well," I paused. "A freelance journalist wrote that article and sold it to the Bugle, then escaped for a while. Anyway, it turns out that he's back in Riverdale." I waited for her to respond appropriately, but she merely looked confused, missing the point completely.

"Why is that a big deal exactly?" 

"Because," I pressed anxiously. "To get something _that_ detailed written in such a short time frame? He must have been in the diner the morning that Fred died. Saw the whole thing!"

She took a moment to process. "He may have seen the killer properly."

"Exactly!" I could have jumped. "Ronnie – we have to find this guy first and see what he knows. Mary Andrews is on her way to him today! I have a good idea of where we might find out." 

"Okay," she linked her arm through mine as we began to walk. "But true detective isn't my speciality. Where's Watson today?"

"With his Dad this morning. I didn't want to disturb them." We headed towards the South Side border and followed the train tracks to the next available crossing point.

"When is the trial date?" She asked softly.

I shrugged. "I don't know. At the start of the New Year. It's going to be a long time before he's free again." I knew deep down, it was really going to affect Jughead in ways even I couldn't possibly help to heal. All I could do, was be there for him, no matter what. Through thick and thin.

I briefly toyed with confiding in Veronica about Jughead's plan to join the Serpents, but decided on closing my mouth again. I was still trying to make sense of it myself and had a strong feeling she just wouldn't understand Jug's thought process. How indebted he felt to Archie and his family for their support over the years.

"How's Archie?" I airily changed the subject.

"Better," she sighed. "I think we're getting somewhere. He actually held my hand yesterday without flinching and cowering away." She smiled at the small achievement.

"He'll come around," I said confidently. "Once he's stopped suspecting everyone." 

"It must be tough on him. Not knowing," she agreed. "I have a feeling things might get a bit more strained with him. We got word that my Dad is coming home in a few weeks time. Maybe I won't introduce them both yet." Despite her reservations, she was brimming with excitement at the thought of becoming a normal family again. I was genuinely happy for her.

"Amazing news. I bet your Mom is happy." I grinned.

"Glowing. It will get her smiling again. She hasn't really done much of anything since Fred." Her eyes glazed over, distracted by some far off thought.

We stopped on a quiet dirt road of abandoned factories and warehouses. I knew the area well enough that there were a few solitary houses and establishments nearby, surrounded by old farmland. On paper, it was the perfect escape for someone hiding. We continued on and came to the first building on the corner – a scary looking bar, adorned with peeling red paint and old event posters. A flickering sign read; 'Vacancies' in the window.

"Oh god," Ronnie hissed. "I love you, B. But you want me to go in there?" 

"It's a long shot… I'm not even sure if this is the place, but it looks promising. I think he's renting a room here – laying low." My eyes scanned the area for movement, finding none. If Mary had already dropped by on her search, she was long gone.

"Is it even open? It actually looks like a bad ghost town around here." 

"We need to try – For Archie." And for Jughead, I added silently.

"For Archiekins." She whispered, following me loyally toward the entrance. I pushed open the windowed doors and we ventured into the gloomy darkness of the unknown.

Inside looked just as ancient and worn as the outside building. With no natural light, the room was pooled in artificial lights from the dusty sconces on the peeled wallpaper. A sea of mismatched chairs and old stools were scattered around the place like ghosts of the past, with no where definitive to go. Looking at the suspicious dark spots on the ceiling, it was easy to imagine that this was probably once the social hub of the industrial district, where many patrons spilled out of the factories late at night and came here, before falling into such a sorry state of disrepair.

Seeing our hesitant, apprehensive entrance, the man behind the bar almost dropped the glass he was drying, judging us in a matter of seconds.

Veronica glided over to the bar, head held high and struggling to keep the disgusted look off her face. "Good morning, wonder if you can help us?" 

"Not sure how, but okay." He man replied uneasily, clearly taken aback by the sight of two young teenage girls wandering into his empty bar. His eyes narrowed under his greying hairline.

"We're looking to catch up with an old friend," I said. "We think he might be here, or in the area." 

The man nodded and resumed cleaning the glass. "I'm going to need a bit more information on that sweetheart, I see lots of people." At his words, Veronica let a snort slip out as she looked around the empty bar pointedly.

"He's a journalist," I clarified further. "Probably is never far without a pen and a notepad on him. Always scribbling notes – something like that. We need to talk to him. It's important."

The man shook his head. "There was a scary looking tall lady in here earlier, looking for the same guy. I can't help you, I'm afraid." 

"Can't or won't?" Ronnie snapped.

"Both," he sneered. "Unless you both want a non-alcoholic beverage – are we done here?" 

Ronnie scowled and leaned in to me. "Betty, this is getting us nowhere."

"I know," I said quietly and turned back to address the unhelpful barman. "Is there anything at all, that you can tell us about him? We're not here to cause any trouble, we just need to talk." I stared at him determined not to break eye contact, he looked away first and set down his glass on the table.

"You both need to leave," he said slowly. "Now." 

After a short glance, we decided to leave the bar with nothing and regroup outside, deflated from the waste of time. My heart sank with disappointment, feeling pretty useless.

"Hey – we tried," Ronnie said comfortingly and threw an arm around my shoulder. "It's the South Side - there's going to be slum bars everywhere. Let's just keep looking."

I nodded reluctantly and we began to turn the corner to carry on down the dirt road. Passing by the metal fire escape, I froze in my tracks and followed the winding stairs up to where they ended and stretched across the length of the building in catwalk form. Next to the catwalk, where a few numbered doors, identical to each other. I glanced back at the fading vacancies sign again.

"Guest rooms," I muttered. "He definitely knew something, but didn't want to say."

"Maybe he's staying here after all." Ronnie whispered.

Before having any more time to think or talking myself out of it, I moved stealthily up the fire escape, careful to keep the sounds of more footsteps to a minimum. Veronica had more of an issue in her thigh high boots.

We clambered together across the metal catwalk, gazing into each of the dusty windows of the guest rooms as we passed. I highly doubted that many tourists opted to stay, so finding the room that looked the most lived it, shouldn't be difficult.

"Number 3." I nodded towards the only room with the curtains drawn across. At my confirmation, Ronnie nodded in agreement and rapped her gloved knuckles on the old wooden door. After a few minutes passed by painfully slowly, she repeated it and stopped at the sounds of shuffling and muttering.

"Who is it?" Came the muffled voice.

"Management." Veronica replied sweetly, not missing a beat. The door creaked open to reveal a young-looking man, clearly in his 20s, with an old baggy t-shirt and sweats. His sandy blonde hair curled across his cerulean confused-looking eyes.

"Well, you aren't management." He said flatly, moving between the both of us.

"No," I agreed. "But we need to talk to you about something – if you are who I think you are." 

"And who do you think I am?" He challenged, knuckles clinging onto the side of the door should he need to slam it shut at a moment's notice.

"The freelance journalist. You sold a story to the Bugle a few months back?"

He blanched, head snapping towards the stairs in case we had an entourage to arrest him with. He quickly signalled for us to enter the room and slammed the door behind us, gazing back through the crack in the curtains.

"Dammit, I paid Tom good money to keep his mouth shut." He growled to himself.

The smell of whiskey was incredibly strong – the same brand my father drank after a hard day at the register. In a common theme with the rest of the establishment, the rooms looked as derelict as the bar downstairs with deep cracks stretching across the plaster in the wall and old, tired furniture scattered around. There was a stack of old greasy pizza boxes on the table, indicating he'd been living in the room for a while.

"So, what can I do for you?" He leaned against the doorway of the bathroom, struggling to light his cigarette. I noticed that there were scraps of paper littered around the room, filled with notes.

"The article you wrote," I began, there was no sense in beating around the bush at this point and he knew it. We were desperate for answers, enough to track down and stalk a man that clearly had gone to some trouble to not be found.

"Maybe," he replied cryptically, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "Who's asking?" 

"Betty Cooper. You might know my parents, they own the Riverdale Register." 

A strange look crossed his face that I couldn't place. He took another deep smoke and smirked. "Alice and Hal are notorious. It makes sense you'd come looking for me. Let's take a wild stab at your purpose for being here – your parents are somewhat livid that I managed to deliver a ground-breaking story before them, and you've come to avenge their honour?" He laughed, flicking ash at the bare wooden floor.

My fingers found my fleshly palms at his cocky attitude. "No," I hissed. "That's not the case actually." 

"Ground-breaking story?" Ronnie glared. "These are _lives_ , people we know." She was shaking slightly, fists clenched. I motioned for her to take a seat on the dusty two seater and folded my arms.

He rolled his eyes in response, extinguishing the stub on the doorway and flicked it into the overflowing bin.

"At Pop's that day," Ronnie began, breathing through her irritation. "Our friend's father was killed. We are desperate to understand what exactly happened. Now – cutting the crap, you were obviously somehow around to see everything that morning. We want _details_ , Stephen King." She arose from her seat and stood, hands on her hips. Our host looked slightly taken aback at the sight of the Amazonian-esque teenager making demands.

"Dude got shot," he replied, holding out his arms. "Yes, I was there. In the diner. I saw everything." A flash of slight disturbance crossed his young face, disappearing just as quickly.

"People don't just 'get shot'," I frowned. "It's not like catching a _cold_. It was either intentional or it wasn't." 

"Okay, okay. So this guy walks in and I'm busy eating the pie special of the day, wondering how the hell I'm going to pay my rent that month. As soon as I know it, he's waving a goddam gun around and demanding all of the money from the cash register and safe," he paused. "He was wearing a balaclava, but he scanned the room – twice. I think he was looking for someone." 

Ronnie and I exchanged glances. "Fred." 

He shrugged, running a hand through his blonde locks. "No idea. But your friend's Dad signals for his son to get his ass back into the bathroom, that he just emerged from. Fred held up his hands to approach the robber, telling him he had a choice. It didn't have to be this way. Without hesitation, the guy turned his gun on Fred and bang! He walked out calmly straight away, leaving all money behind. Like nothing happened." He shook his head, exhaling slowly and shoving his hands into his pockets. "I would bet my life that it was intentional. Fred's son attempted to dive in front of the bullet himself but Fred still manages to get shot? It reeks of a professional hit to me."

No one spoke for a while at the impact of his words, letting the information sink in. Now that it was pretty much confirmed Fred Andrews was intentionally killed, a whole new scary world had suddenly just opened up around us. The shadows in the room looked a little more ominous, as did the dusty orange glow of the outside. I was now very aware that we were an hour's walk away from home, locked inside a guest room with a complete stranger, living on the edge of existence.

I shivered even though it was pretty muggy inside the room and I was wearing a thick winter coat. I wished I'd brought Jughead along after all. Veronica gulped, looking very much the same as I felt.

"I, er, sold the story to the Bugle as soon as I escaped and had time to make sense of things. Used the money to pay for a few months on this place," he gestured to the filthy surroundings. "The rest of it, I'm keeping for protection. It's ridiculous, but I was worried the killer would track me down and return to finish off witnesses," he shuffled uncomfortably. "Then you both show up – full on Starsky and Hutch, demanding answers." 

"I'm sorry, we didn't mean to startle you," I said quietly. "I can promise you, neither of us is the killer."

"I know," he nodded. "He was 100% male, about 6'1 or 6'2. Voice like grating sandpaper, too many smokes I assume. World's a lot scarier now, isn't it?"

"Do you remember anything else about him?" Ronnie choked. "Accent? Visual physical features?" 

"Black clothes, balaclava, gloves – textbook robber. I'm pretty sure he has a South Side accent with dark little murderous eyes," he glanced between the both of us. "Look, are we done here? I've played 20 questions with you, now I want to return to hiding. I barely escaped meeting red-haired lady, wanting to know the same things. Is there some kind of tweet, revealing my location online?"

"Nope, you've proved useful to us," Veronica checked her phone. "B – we should get going. We promised to help Kev, remember?" 

I nodded reluctantly, having completely forgot my promise. I had so many more questions, begging to be answered. Veronica went to wait outside, our new journalist friend couldn't look any more relieved at our imminent departure.

"Thanks for everything, Mr…" I paused and outstretched my hand to him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it.

"Hawkins. Chic Hawkins." 

"Thanks Chic," I smiled and scribbled my phone number one a blank scrap of paper lying on the windowsill. "Please call me if you remember anything else, Chic."

He nodded. "I would really appreciate it if you and wonder woman out there, kept this a secret," he waved the paper pointedly. "Only then will I trust you enough to call you about anything else. Safety and all that, you understand." 

"Sure." I promised.

By the time we reached the town hall, it was mid-afternoon and volunteers were milling around everywhere to get the venue turned around for the New Year festival. Kevin sensed our approach as we crept into the hall, head snapping in our direction. He marched over, clipboard in hand.

"And _where may I ask,_ have you both been all day?" His eyebrows rose, looking between the both of us, looking seriously stressed. His eyes scanned the hall, ensuring everyone was still engaged in their assigned jobs.

"Investigating," Veronica said airily. "Hey – is the pop stand open yet? I'm dying for one of those lemonades." 

"No," he snapped. " _Maybe_ it would have been set up sooner if you and Nancy Drew here, could have turned up this morning like your promis-… _Joaquin, those streamers do not look FESTIVE enough_!" His boyfriend turned around and mocked saluted him.

"So sorry Kev, we got held up," I gently prised the clipboard from his clammy hands. "Go and take a break – I'll take over until you get back, okay?" 

He sighed, instantly relieved. "Thanks Betty, I've been at this for hours. College applications be damned, I'm flat out refusing if my Dad volunteers me next year! Do you have any idea just how many people can't take simple direction?" He pressed his fingers to his temples and gave a struggled smile.

I glanced around the hall to see what I was dealing with. Kevin's other minions has done a good job so far setting up various decorations and bathing the room in test lighting. Tables were beginning to be set up, working to transform the plain town hall into his ideal artistic vision. The double French doors at the back, were held wide open as people milled out into the botanical gardens with various furniture and lights.

"You did an amazing job so far." 

"Oh Betty, you flatter me. If you need me, I'll be taking a quick power nap in the bathroom." Leaning forward to kiss my head, he glided out of the hall with renewed enthusiasm. Veronica giggled next to me.

"I'm going to go and work on that soda stand," she winked. "Manual labour makes my head hurt. In a while, B." 

True to my word, I took on Kevin's responsibilities like a trooper and coordinated the rest of the event in the absence of our great creative director, who returned a couple of hours later, looking suitably more relaxed. Working through to early evening, we had to stand back and admire the fruits of our labour. The venue was beautifully decorated from room to room in an explosion of red and gold. The gardens had been adorned with strings of fairy lights running between the trees and Chinese lanterns hanging from the deck, shining brightly against the blackened sky.

Behind us, there was a gasp of joy as the Mayor entered the hall with her hands clasped. "This is wonderful Mr. Keller! Have you got the full itinerary for me?"

"Thanks Mayor McCoy," he scanned the list. "I've got Josie and the Pussycats on for their set at 8, followed by a couple of local acts. Archie Andrews signed up months ago, but I haven't been able to get a final confirmation out of him, so I've got a back up act if he doesn't show." 

The mayor wore a thin smile. "Yes, well. After the robbery, I'm sure everyone will understand if he pulls out." She glanced over to Sheriff Keller, leaning against the wall in the far corner talking to one of the school teachers.

"Performances are followed by an _excellent_ jazz band I sourced from Greendale. Cue pyrotechnics and fireworks at midnight." He finished. But the Mayor had already mumbled her apologies and excused herself to go and chat with the sheriff.

Kev snorted and tapped his clipboard. "Why do I even bother, B?" 

"It's the path of least resistance." I replied, greatly feeling that it was now sadly becoming my mantra in life.

Managing to pull myself away from the preparation, I returned home to quickly change and get myself ready for the long evening ahead. Stepping in to the front door, my parents and Polly were already getting on their coats and ready to head out.

Mom took one looked at me and blanched. "Dear god Elizabeth – you're not going in jeans and a t-shirt!" She was wearing a regal ensemble of gold and black herself, with matching heels. Dad opted for a plain evening suit. Somehow between the both of them, they'd managed to wrestle Polly into a long flowing dress to accentuate her bump, and flat shoes she probably couldn't even see.

"Of course not," I tossed my keys onto the table and hung up my coat. "Kev asked for help setting up, I just came back to get dressed."

My mother relaxed, satisfied that she wouldn't need to explain to people that the other Cooper daughter was acting out. "Well, we're leaving in a moment, so you'd better hurry." 

"Just go without me and I'll meet you guys there." I suggested.

Dad moved around me to rest his hand on my shoulder. I instinctively flinched away at his touch, we hadn't quite rekindled our fatherly/daughter relationship as of yet, since he was allowed to move back into the house and pretend everything was normal again. If he felt my recoil, he worked hard to hide the hurt on his face.

"I'm not sure how I feel about you walking around town in the dark with a killer on the lose." He said softly.

"I'll get Jughead to meet me or something. Go! Before you miss the beginning."

"She'll be fine," Polly vouched. "Can we go? Babies are craving finger food." 

My mother looked positively torn between waiting behind or entrusting my safety to the pale, skinny, tortured teenage boy she was so unsure about. "Fine," she said finally. "We're late anyway. Betty – be there as soon as possible, no detours."

They all bid me goodbye and made me promise not to take too long. As soon as they piled into the car and pulled out of the driveway, I raced up the remainder of the stairs and shot Jug a quick text to highlight the change of plans.

Not knowing what was quite wrong with me, I stood in front of three selected outfits strewn across my bed, not too sure which one I wanted to go with. It didn't help that my train of thought was interrupted by Chic Hawkins's revelation that morning. Now that I knew for definite what happened to Fred was no accident, I was unsure of what to do with the information next. I had promised Chic that I wouldn't tell anyone about him, but what was my next move?

Glancing across to the window, I could see Archie's house in total darkness. Nothing moved or showed life, not even the curtains billowing from the wind of his open window. My heart ached for the oldest friend. I wondered briefly it he'd even turn up to play his slot.

I now knew and understood just how Jughead felt – useless and powerless that potentially we both had the means to try and help Archie. Both stuck in limbo at how deep we were getting. Archie would undoubtedly want to know _everything_. But what he would do with that information, was what frightened me most.

Ultimately, Chic was right. The world had now evolved into a scary place. We were caught up in its dark web.


	7. 7 - Jughead

**Chp. 7 – Jughead.**

New Year's Eve once again rolled around in blue of neon lights and terrible cliché songs about self-improvement and changing the world. All this night achieved year on year, was remind everyone just how _wrong_ twelve months could possibly turn, how much life could change.

The New Year was always filled with the potential of new possibilities, experiences and empty promises. All of which meant nothing when the old, dead ones still hung over like bloated corpses.

One thing was for certain, my next year was assured to be a difficult one, with only three goals in mind: Do what I could to be there for Betty. Find out who killed Fred Andrews and bring them to justice. Get my own life back on track.

With all of the white noise, I'd forgotten how to take care of myself. A normal 'date night' with Betty, was enough to make me realise just how much I wanted it to be my reality. Hell, I would sit down and gladly watch chick flicks with her _nightly_ , just to achieve this impossible goal.

Lately, I was struggling and drowning inside my own skin; wishing in despite all of his faults, I could have my father's guidance on how I should navigate the minefield before me. But reality was cruel and he was locked inside his cell, awaiting a long punishment. I was alone.

Thankfully, my only saving grace was that Betty and I had worked things out between us. Neither of us had mentioned the Snakes aloud since our initial argument, but I could tell that it preyed on the very edges of her mind. On mine, too.

She was sorry for blocking me out, but I deserved the radio silence. Most days, I couldn't help but ask myself if I even deserved her at all. A daughters of Riverdale's esteemed Stepford family – with me; Jughead Jones.

Man, I loved that girl so much, it killed me to know that I hurt her with my Serpent idea. But I knew she understood why it would be something I'd have to do. That was the most important thing. I was confident we'd get through it together.

I entered the Cooper family home, with the spare key hidden under the plant pot on the left-hand side of the door. The house was empty and silent, meaning I'd have no awkward encounters with her parents. Travelling up the stairs, I could see that Betty's bedroom door was slightly open at the end of the hallway, spilling golden light into the darkened space. Nudging it open further, I was met with an underwear-clad Betty – frowning at a pile of clothes on her bed.

She was stunningly beautiful as always. I'd memorised every curve and shape of her body with my fingertips, knowing it better than my very own. I longed to reach out and touch her milky skin to hold her close for eternity. I couldn't help myself from feeling my heart pull.

Her expression was what stopped me. She nibbled at the corners of her lips, deep in troubled thought. Catching sight of me in the doorway, she turned and opened her mouth slightly, words dying on her lips.

My curious smile slipped. "What is it, Betty?"

She swallowed. "Fred was targeted. He was murdered." 

Urging her to sit down on her laden bed, I sat with her as she proceeded to recall the events of her love morning of investigation with Veronica. How together, they'd successfully managed to track down the mysterious Bugle journalist. How he had confided his recollection of events to them. The blood ran ice cold in my veins and an involuntary shiver ran up my spine.

"And so," Betty choked, hands flapping. "I have no idea what to do now. Do I tell Archie?"

"No," I said firmly. "He'd go straight out on a suicide mission to look for the killer - we both know that." 

"He's dying without it, Jug. He's mad at the universe. He needs to know this. It might give him hope for justice one day." She sniffed, wiping at her eyes sub-consciously. I pretended not to notice that her hands were covered in dots of blood from many hours of stressing.

"It'll give him an excuse for _revenge_ ," I murmured and leaned over to stroke her cheek. "He needs to learn how to grieve properly without anger or bloodlust." Although the truth hurt us both, it was something we could agree on to keep Archie safe from himself. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she was struggling – we both were. The consequences if Archie ever found out that we knew this information without telling him, would ultimately kill our friendship.

"I'll let Ronnie know not to mention anything," she said shakily. "We need to plan our next move, Juggie."

"Tomorrow is literally a new day and a new year. Come by the trailer tomorrow afternoon and we'll work it out."

She paused and met my eyes. "I don't want to be alone tonight. I'm scared. The thought of this guy walking around our town is just…" She trailed off.

"Okay," I didn't miss a beat. "Stay, tonight. With me." I moved my lips across hers and cocked my head, slipping a strand of hair over her ear.

She nodded, gratefully and shivered. "I'll make some excuse to my parents."

"You'll be safe – I'll keep you safe. No matter what, okay?"

"Okay," she pasted on a smile. "How was your Dad this morning?"

"Bored," I smirked. "He just wants his trial to hurry up so he can serve his sentence in peace. He asked after you, how you were." I neglected to mention that he'd spent an hour lecturing me on how not to 'let this one go' after my father managed to push my mother away and sorely regretted it.

"Does he remember if Fred mentioned anything weird to him, that morning?" Betty moved back to her feet to slip on a medium-length red dress, that hugged her figure. She went over the dresser to fix her hair and makeup.

"Nah, he's in denial at the moment. Doesn't want to believe he's actually gone." I fell silent, the ghostly images of my emancipated father burned into my brain. It terrified me how hollow and pale he was - no longer he esteemed leader of Riverdale's biggest gang. However, my father was proud at heart and would rather die, than admit he was struggling. FP jones did not admit failure. It wasn't in his nature.

Betty stood up and glanced into the mirror for a final time. "How do I look?" 

With the flawless red dress she'd selected, she'd opted to go for a black shawl around her shoulders and matching shoes. It was one of those occasions she deemed special enough to let her hair down and flow over her shoulders like liquid silk.

"Your boyfriend is extremely lucky." I smiled crookedly, earning a slight blush across her cheeks.

"You clean up pretty good yourself, Jones."

I glanced down at the brand-new suit Mrs. Matthews helped me pick out. "Oh? This old thing!" 

We finished up and left the safety and warmth of the perfect Cooper household to venture out into the freezing December air and walk the short distance to the town hall. There were easily, hundreds of residents out on the streets, swaying and laughing merrily as they clutched their alcohol and drank away their sorrows of his small town. I interlaced my fingers with Betty, protectively as we walked.

One thing I noticed, was that not one person was out on the streets alone. Everyone seemed to be sticking with someone else, regardless of who they were. It was an obvious, sad indication that no one felt safe alone, on their own streets.

As we turned into the main shopping area and into the business district, stalls had already been setup throughout the day and were now in full swing; selling an array of kids toys to neon lights to scarves. We passed through a mini market and ran into Moose and Reggie – who nodded at us as they went passed, laden with giant hotdogs.

There were lights _everywhere_ , illuminating the entire town against the pitch-black backdrop of the sky. For one night at least, people could attempt to let go of their inhibitions and go back to suspecting their neighbours of murder tomorrow.

There was a real tangible excitement in the air, infectious to everyone. Even I had to smile to myself and enjoy where my own life had taken me - hand in hand with my girlfriend. In the positive atmosphere, even I could happily admit we looked amazing together. It was for the first time ever, I felt that I _deserved_ to be there with her.

It felt amazing.

Passing through the festival stalls and activities, we reached the town hall. Inside, Betty proudly led me into the main hall to show me the fruits of hers and Kevin's labour.

The entire room was pooled in pink and purple light, covered with streamers that hung down from the ceiling. There was a DJ up on stage, controlling the thrumming beat of the music – contrasting wildly to what I normally chose to listen to. But I could make an exception for one night.

Kevin and Joaquin – upon seeing over entrance, glided over to us with extra drinks in their hands.

"Well, if it isn't the Jones's," Kevin grinned and handed us both a red plastic cup with mysterious liquid in it. "Glad you guys worked things out."

Betty blushed, embarrassed. I threw my arm around her shoulders and drained the contents of the plastic cup – unknown alcohol with a slight fruity and bitter taste. All three of them stared at me in utter surprise of the sudden spontaneity.

"Wow, Jones," Joaquin grinned. "And here I thought we'd have to hold you down."

"Crappy year," I murmured and glanced at the girl at my side. "Well, some bits were pretty cool." 

"Oh, tell us all about it." Kevin winked suggestively, earning an elbow in the ribs from Betty. He still retained his all-knowing Cheshire cat grin as he looked between the both of us and raised his eyebrows.

"Smut aside," Betty rolled her eyes. "Has Arch turned up to play his set yet?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. If he does – that's great. If not, I have someone to fill in." He took a swig from his own cup and exchanged a long glance with me. He didn't need to use words to elaborate further – we'd been texting back and forth for days, trying to locate our lost friend. It worried me that no one had heard from him.

"What is that?" Betty demanded, glancing between the two of us.

"What?" I shrugged innocently.

Her eyes narrowed. "I saw that look you both shared. Spill, now." She folded her arms defiantly. Kevin and I laughed airily, unanimously shaking our heads in confusion.

"Clearly, this girl is not yet drunk enough!" Joaquin announced and stepped forward to grab Betty's hands, leading her to the huge spread of food and drink along the back table of the hall. As soon as her blonde head disappeared from sight, Kevin inched closer to raise his voice above the music, all previous traces of humour now gone.

"It's worse than we thought, Jughead. Joaquin's friends saw Archie around the South Side border today." 

"Wha-… What was he doing there?"

"I don't know. I think he's looking for clues or something, checking out who enters and leaves via the South Side road." He glanced around the room to check we weren't being overheard, biting his lip anxiously.

"That doesn't even make sense. There are way more ways into the North side than just by that one road." I muttered, scanning the drunken bodies around us. I signalled for Kevin to follow me to the quieter side of the room.

"Joaquin has a theory that he may have glimpsed the killer get into a car and drive off-…"

"-… And now Archie is waiting to see if that same car drives along the road one day." I nodded as the pieces fell into place. "Yeah, that sounds like our red-headed scoundrel. That's a crazy plan – he'd have to scout it all day! Plus, we don't know if this guy is even still in Riverdale." 

"And what if he is?" Kev hissed, brow crinkling. His tone was serious. "Can you explain where he's been all day every day? Even _Reggie_ of all people, has been visiting the house trying to see where he goes. Mary doesn't have a clue. He just goes out and returns home later." 

I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands. "What if the killer _does_ drive along one day and see him? Recognises him and runs him over. I mean, we know killing isn't off the table for him. What's one more witness?" 

"Maybe," Kevin said carefully. "But there still a small chance that this was a very unlucky robbery. If he had any sense, he'd have run by now." 

I shook my head firmly. "No. There isn't." With another glance to ensure that no one was eavesdropping on our heated conversation, I leaned into the side of his head and retold the exact story that Betty relayed to me only an hour before. As I concluded, Kev leaned back and downed the rest of his drink, a troubled look spread across his features.

"Jug, this is serious." He said finally, lost for any more words.

"You think I don't know that?" I snapped quietly. "This shooter really sounded as if he made sure to memorise every single face in the diner that morning. What if this Chic Hawkins guy is right to be afraid and he's being watched?"

Kevin paused only for a fraction of a second. "That would mean Betty and Veronica?" 

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, exactly. That's where I am right now," I scowled. "I wish she would have asked me to go with her!"

We fell into a heavily pregnant silence as we contemplated the impending doom of what this entire day had turned into for us all. Now there was a real fear in the air as our suspicions were confirmed. But what did it mean for us next?

"Betty is a maelstrom. When she gets an idea in her head, she'll go for it." Kev muttered finally.

"We're going to have to protect them both, in case they've been marked too." I concluded. "I'll cover Betty – you should have seen her face earlier. She's terrified."

"She's right to be," he agreed and glanced sideways at me. "The Snakes wanted to swear you in, right?" 

"What does this have to do with that?" I groaned, not wanting to get into another conversation on morals and right and wrong. Kevin paused, thinking for a moment.

"Jughead, Betty told me everything about your fight – super perk of being the gay best friend. But what _if_ you could guarantee hers and Ronnie's protection?" There was a strange determined look on his face.

"What are you talking about?" 

He sighed, exasperated. "What if you went ahead and joined the Serpents. And in return, they offered to keep their ears to the ground and keep watch over them?" 

I scoffed. "They don't owe anything to a skinny, emo seventeen-year-old. Why would they even entertain that idea?" 

"Your father," he said simply. "He took the fall for them and faces more time because he won't name, names. They owe him, and by extension, they owe you. They _sought you out_ to offer you a spot. Loyalty is one of the most important virtues to them." He watched me steadily as I processed his argument.

"Look – I get where you're coming from. But joining the Serpents is going to be the last possible choice for me."

"Do we have any other way?" He asked honestly. "Archie is going to get himself into serious trouble, sooner or later. Betty and Veronica could be marked for roughing up the witness. Mary Andrews is out of her mind with worry and fury," he exhaled deeply, a deep tired sound. "It's all falling apart, Jug." 

There was no argument I could meet him with. He was of course, completely right and we were all near-powerless to change anything. As much as I hated to admit it, I was in the best position to take the next step.

"Leave it to me." I surrendered, heart sinking. Even though I knew inevitably I would be faced with joining the Serpent's, I stupidly still held onto hope that somehow a miracle would happen in the form of a confession or sudden arrest – and I wouldn't have to ruin my life. Deep down, questions were beginning to form if I really _felt_ that I had to do this for Archie. This was short lived, the answer was absolutely yes. My father would have chosen the same path without a second thought, if faced with the same situation. Archie was my best friend. I would go to hell and back for him.

"Let's get through tonight," Kevin said kindly and squeezed my shoulder. "We can start planning tomorrow." He left me with a weak, sad smile and excused himself to wander back off into the crowd for another drink. He was soon replaced by an intoxicated Betty, who made a beeline for me and swung her arms around my neck with a deep kiss.

"Wow," I erased my worried face with a smile. "You smell just like the liquor store, Betts." 

"Tough year, too," she said by way of explanation, laughing. "However, I am indeed now drunk enough to want to dance and make a fool out of myself." She began tugging on my hands to lead me towards the dance floor.

"Oh, no," I protested and planted my feet firmly. "Last time I danced, Jellybean made me enter the North American Ballroom Championships with her, when I was nine. It wasn't pretty."

"You're seventeen, I'm sure the trauma has worn off for now," she teased. "I'm not taking no for an answer, Juggie. Besides, everyone here is drunk. They won't even remember the sight of your flailing limbs anyway." 

"You'll remember."

"Of course," she smiled. "Please?" For the first time during our 6-month relationship, she actually pouted and resorted to the infamous puppy eyes. Feeling my resolve waiver, I begrudgingly allowed her to pull me towards the dance floor, where thralls of people were moving along to the surging tempo blasting out from the speakers.

The music moved into a heavy bass beat, a complete opposite end of the spectrum from the slow song a few minutes before. Betty – plied with alcohol, at once began to move along with the bass and join the myriad of people swelling around us in their trance. She moved fluidly with the music, swaying her hips side to side in time with the beat. She glanced up through her eyelashes at me, biting her lip. It was honestly the most free spirited I'd ever seen her.

I let go of the world around me and moved along with her. She was completely right – everyone around us was plastered already and would struggle to remember anything from this night. It was shockingly easy to let go of _Jughead Jones_ and completely forget our messy predicament we found ourselves in.

I grinned involuntarily, grabbing her hips and pressing them against my own. It was possibly the first time in my life, I could admit to myself that someone made me feel glad to be _alive_.

The tempo changed and melted away into a slow, sweet melody. People were pairing off around us automatically. Betty must have sensed my anxiety at the thought of slow dancing because she wound her arms easily around my neck and swayed from side to side, as I gratefully followed her lead.

She glanced up, lips pulling into a smile. "You've got this, Juggie. You've surprised me." 

"Apparently," I scoffed. "I'm full of surprises though. This year has been filled with more 'firsts' than I can count. Why not cram as many more in before midnight, as possible?" 

"I like the sound of that." She mused, leaning forwards so that our lips were almost touching. I moved my hand across her cheekbones and rested it on her neck.

"I wish I could convey just how much I feel for you." I sighed.

"I didn't ever imagine love to be like this," she admitted. "But it _feels_ right, you know?" 

"I know." Gazing into her azure eyes, I could feel my heart hammering softly against her chest, I was pretty sure it would drown out the music. Soon enough, the song ended and was replaced by a stressed looking Kevin Keller addressing the audience from the stage.

"Riverdale," he greeted. "We've got some excellent entertainment lined up for tonight's events – followed by a spectacular firework show at midnight – that's when the _real_ party begins!" He grinned as the hall erupted in cheers and whoops.

He paused, glancing down at the schedule in his hands before flashing another confident smile. He scanned the audience, momentarily locking eyes with me.

"First up tonight – Riverdale's local wonder boy – _Archie Andrews!_ " He stepped back to clap, trying to mouth something at me. There was a shuffle of movement at the corner of the stage, where our red-headed friend emerged from the curtains and half stumbled to the microphone, laden with his guitar. He smacked Kev hard on the back and sank clumsily into the stool provided, grinning stupidly.

I didn't need to look at Betty to confirm that we were wearing matching expressions of horror.

"He's _drunk_ out of his face. He's going to totally humiliate himself – I can't watch this…" She hissed and began to make a bold move towards the stage. I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back against me.

"Betty – you'll draw more attention to it if you jump on the stage and tackle him," I soothed into her ear. "We'll catch him when he finishes." She struggled against me but I held on tight, careful not to hurt her.

Not at all phased by a whispering audience, Archie took a moment to fumble around with his guitar, getting his fingers into the right position. Bleary-eyed, he didn't bother with an opening speech and launched straight into his song.

 _See, I've been working on a Jailbreak._

 _Got no time for a mistake._

 _Any moment till the day breaks._

 _No more time to get to know you._

Slurring his words slightly and nodding overly-enthusiastically, he strummed the guitar passionately in time, without too many mistakes. I instantly recognised the song, a vast difference from the usual love-melodies he preferred to play. This was darker, resonated at a much deeper, angry level.

 _Now I'm living in a dream._

 _And I don't think I'm ever gonna wake up._

At the chorus, he slammed his palms against the glossy wood of the guitar until it nearly slipped clean out of his hands altogether. I could feel Betty's head fall into her hands from embarrassment.

 _Got no time for a new fate._

 _Any moment they'll replace me._

 _Should have tried to get to know you._

 _I've been working on my timing._

 _Insecurity beside me._

Going into the chorus one last time and with more drunken gusto, he finished the song abruptly and stumbled back off the stage once again, not bothering to continue with the rest of his set and no words or comments to the audience. A confused and bewildered Kevin took to the stage once again to announce the next act – looking relieved it was over.

"That was the most awkward thing I've ever watched," Betty whispered. "What's going on with him? Does he have any idea what he's putting us through? We want to help, but he refuses to let anyone in. He's clearly struggling!" She gestured violently towards the stage.

"I'm going to go and find him," I suggested. "Why don't you see if you can track down Mary and console her or something? I bet she's beside herself with worry at the moment. Apparently he's hardly ever home nowadays." 

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "No way Jones, I'm coming!" 

"I want to talk to him, bro to bro. Get some answers. Can you trust me on this?" I cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look me straight into the eyes. She deflated, rolling her eyes dramatically and stepping out of my hurried grasp.

"Get through to him, Jughead. Before he ruins everything for himself." 

I kissed her and made my way through the crowd towards the back of the hall, near the array of adjoining corridors. I had to move quickly before he had the opportunity to disappear on us again – I was not about to let that happen.

Peering into each room as I shot by, I sourced the lengths of the backstage areas and hallways for any sign of red hair. I was fast becoming desperate.

With a pang, I thought about leaving Betty alone during our special night, as once again – something had come between us and interrupted the night. I was fast growing bored of my life standing still, with no means of escaping impossible situations, that a seventeen-year-old _should not_ be tackling.

It was the sound of breaking glass that immediately grabbed my attention. Thinking the worst, I began to run to the kitchen area and pushed through the heavy double doors to locate the source of the sound. I was standing in the middle of an industrial looking food preparation area, adorned with silver instruments hanging above the dozens of silver machinery. The room itself was empty, but I could hear rustling sounds coming from the walk-in stores cupboard.

Poking my head slowly around the ajar door, I found Archie Andrews sprawled across the floor, kicking shards of glass under the huge metal racking. He was carrying three bottles of alcohol under his arms.

"Need a hand?" I offered.

He grinned. "Nah, it's all good." I pretended not to notice that his eyes were dilated to the size of dinner plates, or that his breath was irradiated with the smell of heavy whiskey.

He was unrecognisable from the focused, fair looking friend I'd always known and respected. This guy wore a suit covered in alcohol splotches and what I could have only assumed – was stray food spots down his white shirt. His hair hung limp over his sweating forehead.

Satisfied that enough glass was kicked away from him, he took a long swig from one of his bottles. "What can I do for you, Juggie?" 

"For starters, you'd better put those bottles down – you _know_ what Kevin is like with inventory. Secondly, you can start by telling me where you've been all week! No one's seen you around since Christmas."

"Six days ago?" He laughed airily and clung onto his bottles protectively. "I think it's time we cut the umbilical cord now, don't you think Jughead? I'm allowed to do things on my own…" He made an awkward face.

"Yes, sure bro," I nodded sarcastically. "Unless of course – you mean hanging out by the South Side border? Oh yeah, I know about that one." 

He blanched, looking me up and down. "It's a free country, you're following me now?" 

"No," I muttered. "Someone said they saw you hanging around out there. Arch – were you waiting to see if the killer's car drove along the road into the North one day? Do I even _need_ to remind you how stupid that is?" 

At my words, he scowled, obviously rumbled. He took a defiant sip of whiskey and glared at me. "I'm a big boy now Jughead, it's also none of your damn business."

My fists clenched as I struggled not to step forward and smack some sense into him. "Of course, it's our _business_ – you're my best friend. I promised to work it out with you, not against you! I have your back, bro." 

"In case you haven't noticed Jughead – what with your tongue being down Betty's throat – my Dad is dead. Super dead. Not coming back. Please enlighten me on how you 'have my back' on this?" He snorted, amused by the skinny emo teenager stood defiantly before him. I concentrated more than ever, on not punching him.

"We want to be there for you. Support you. Be there whenever you need us. Together, we'll get you through this. Your friends are worried about you." 

"Right well, there it is," he paced around the small room like an irritable predator. "The next time I feel like sitting in a friendship circle and braiding each other's hair – I'll give you a call. Until then, I suggest you stay out of my way and leave me alone to track down the murderer-..."

"Arch, you need to talk to someone and stop lashing out to keep people away from you-…"

"I can't," he roared. "Jug – you really don't get it, do you? I'm not just going to accept this and move on. The police so far, haven't done a damn thing. It's time to take matters into my own hands," he took another glug of the brown bottle. "I am so _angry_. I literally won't and can't rest until his guy gets what's coming to him."

"It doesn't need to turn into a big revenge plot, Bruce Wayne," I hissed. "I have a plan on how we can forward our investing-…"

"I'm going to stop you right there," he scowled and held up his hand to shush me. "We're not teaming up on this one." 

"Tell me you're joking Arch." I sighed and rested my head in my hands. He looked like joking was the very last mood on his mind. His eyes flashed with annoyance and he took a step towards me, semi-menacingly.

"Stay out of this, Jughead," he warned. "I am going to catch this guy, _myself_. Me. I'm going to be the one to avenge my father." He moved to cross me in an attempt to leave the storeroom, but my arm snapped across the doorway, blocking him.

"Then, why aren't you?" I challenged. "So far, all I see – is a wasted, scared teenager who's acting out and attacking all of his friends because he's hurting inside. If you were really hell bent on justice, you would take all of the help you could possible get!" I forced myself not to drop his cold, steely gaze as his fists clenched in the corner of my eyes. My words must have hurt, but I didn't care. The time for sympathetic words was over, he'd single-handedly alienated himself from everyone – the very _last_ thing that Fred would ever want for his son. Archie desperately needed to face reality soon, before he got hurt.

"I'm not wasting my life away talking about my feelings." He sneered at last, breathing heavily. With one quick movement, he stepped forwards and shoved me roughly into the doorframe so hard, that my face connected with the metal racking on the other side.

He stopped for a moment, perhaps inwardly shocked at his own violence. It was short lived, as he cradled the bottles closer to his chest and disappeared from the kitchen altogether.

Shocked, I took a few minutes to compose myself and calm my breathing as my back found the cool hardness of the wall behind me. My right cheek throbbed gently in pain where it had connected with the rack. I was shaking slightly – more from rage than anything else. Archie was in pain, it wasn't his fault. But it was extremely difficult to feel sorry for him when he didn't want to help himself.

I was only more confident than ever, that Betty and I made the right choice not to tell him about Chic.

In the space of a few hours, my New Years Eve had only confirmed that someone needed to find out about the truth before Archie spiralled down any further and finally snapped.

I tried to imagine in my head, what Fred Andrews would do or say in this situation. The thought was redundant in itself – Archie would never have spiralled if Fred was still around today.

At this juncture – I finally decided that it would be best if I spoke to the Serpents ASAP.

Returning back to the festivities, Josie and her Pussycats were in the middle of one of their songs. Hundreds of people had squashed into the hall from outside to hear them play, nodding their heads in approval along to the beat. The surging crowd was so tightly packed together, that I had real trouble trying to navigate my way through to find Betty. Giving up, I headed towards the nearest exit, leading to the botanic gardens.

The air outside was refreshing and crisp, filled with conversation and twinkling laughter from billowing groups of people on the outside streets. Thankfully, the gardens themselves were enclosed with pretentious iron fencing and large hedges, leaving me free to reflect quietly on one of the empty benches situated under an oak tree, drenched in fairy lights.

"Decorated it myself." Betty's voice floated over to me. I turned to see her emerge from underneath the line of Chinese lanterns, floating softly in the breeze. She reached up and ran her fingers over the windchimes, each one singing quietly for her.

"It's beautiful." I agreed. She smiled and took the seat next to me, sipping a glass of wine. I noticed that her hair had a natural wave to it when she allowed it to hang free over her shoulders.

She rose an eyebrow. "You want to tell me why your cheek is bleeding?" 

My hand flew to my face and immediately sourced the small cut and dried blood. "I uh… Caught up with Archie." There was literally no point in trying to lie or downplay my best friend. I needed Betty to understand and see that we weren't dealing with the boy we normally knew.

She blanched, mouth hanging open. "He _punched_ you?" 

"He pushed me into a doorway," I clarified. "I caught my face on something. I'm pretty sure he didn't intend to hurt me." Or at least I hoped he didn't. Running my finger over the cut once again, I was unsure of what to make with my meeting with Archie or where this even left our friendship. I doubted we would be sharing a plate of fries anytime soon.

"He's falling pretty far," I admitted. "He doesn't want anyone's help. He wants to face this alone." 

She shook her head sadly, glaring into the darkened flower beds. "He's an idiot." 

"I'm worried at how he's going to react if he actually manages to catch up with this guy." I could barely even stomach the thought of the internal battle that would rage within him. I neglected to mention that Kevin and I knew what he was up to daily, it would only worry her more.

Betty glanced sideways at me. "He wouldn't kill him in revenge. He's not like that."

"I literally have no idea what he's capable of, right now," I gestured to my face. "Once upon a time, he wouldn't put his hands on me either. Plus – the shooter _is_ a killer. He may not have any trouble dealing with another issue." I trailed off, not needing to elaborate any further as the truth finally sank and resonated with her. She froze, a horrified expression on her face.

"So what do we do now?" She was helpless.

"I go back to my original plan. Join the Serpents and find out what they know. Try and find this guy first, get some hard evidence to Sheriff Keller and go from there." I sighed aloud, speaking the words physically felt so real, so final. Betty's eyes closed slowly, her worst fears and worries realised. She trembled, seeking out my hands, not at all due to the wintery weather.

"I'll stick by you," she vowed. "Whatever you need from me, I'll do it. I'm not going to let this civil war split us apart, as I mentioned before. More importantly, I'm not going to let my personal feelings stop you." She smiled weakly, emotions riling up inside and spilling out of the corner of her eyes. I couldn't help but smile back at her, heart fluttering.

"I'm counting on it. It's not going to be easy." 

"Our lives are predominantly _difficult_ anyway!" She had to laugh whole-heartedly, rolling her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by the sight of Kevin Keller flying through the double doors to the hall. He took a moment before he found us sat by the fountain. The sounds of Josie and the Pussycats spilled into the cool air.

"B – I need you now." He panted, out of breath. "Ronnie caught up with Archie. Big fight. She's drank too much and is in a predicament in the bathroom. Can you go and check she hasn't thrown up a lung?" 

"It must have been bad," she muttered. "Ronnie never over-drinks." 

Kev smiled, tight-lipped. "Archie doesn't normally come up with some colourful language and insults for her either." He returning back into the thrumming building, a concerned Betty at his heels.

I stood up to follow and slowly make my way back into the party, but was stopped immediately by a perfectly manicured hand pushing the door open one again. I found myself stood eye to eye with the demon that is Alice Cooper.

"Mrs. Cooper." I greeted and nodded. She regarded me with a frosty expression that could easily cull a field of innocent lambs, totally poker-faced. I made a tiny movement to indicate that I intended to step past her to go inside, but she stood still, refusing to budge. My polite smile waivered, feeling that my night wasn't yet over.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked hesitantly.

"We need to talk," she said pointedly and began to stroll slowly around the flowerbeds, following the gravel path around the circumference of the quad. Feeling that I wasn't going to get out of this, I reluctantly followed her.

"So, how's your New Year's going?" I said conversationally.

"I overheard your conversation with Kevin Keller earlier," she drawled, launching straight into her thoughts. "More interestingly, what you're planning to do to help Archie?"

"And what's that?" I lamely feigned memory less.

She smiled. "You don't need to dance around the point with me, Jughead, I'm a reporter. I can practically _smell_ the guilt." She enhanced her point by looking me up and down with the critical eye. I shrivelled in her gaze like an ant under a magnifying glass. The woman was both notorious and terrifying at the same time and I was nervous to be alone with her. Additionally, I'd never had a proper girlfriend before and it would be a lot easier if she actually liked me.

"I've been thinking about it for a while," I said finally. "Going over it in my head. At the end of the day, Archie and his family have always been there for me and I owe them this." 

Seeing my apprehension, she began to talk. "Once upon a time, I used to live on the South Side of Riverdale. I grew up there, the daughter of two poor shopkeepers who struggled even to put clothes on my back. We fought for every single day for basic needs, sometimes it was my father who decided to go hungry for an evening so we could eat."

"I would have never guessed you had that background." I muttered and glanced at her expensive looking gold and black dress. 

She smirked and closed her eyes. "I hide it very well. Not even Betty or Polly really know. As far as they're aware, I've always lived here in the North. When I got older, I went to South Side High – I believe that's where you've moved to now? I ended up getting in with the popular crowd and got mixed up in a lot of sketchy stuff. Anyway, this big, stocky guy approaches me one day and announces that he's starting up a gang. Tells me his name is Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Second," she snorted and waved her hand. "Of course, I shot him down straight away, thinking it was a bad joke. Who the hell is unlucky enough to be landed with that name?" 

"Tell me about it." I groaned, shoving my hands into my pockets. Alice stopped walking to gaze at the illuminated fountain. Through the hues of interchanging blues and purples, I could see a strange expression on her face.

"The South Side Serpents were born after that. FP eventually convinced me to join after hounding me for a couple of years. He had this crazy idea of all members getting matching tattoos."

"You have a snake tattoo?" My eyebrows disappeared into my hair along with any previous first impressions of my girlfriend's mother, as she changed right before my very eyes. She held up her left arm and tugged at the sleeve of her long-sleeved dress, to reveal a slightly bumpy patch of skin.

"I had it lasered off a long time ago, not soon long after I moved to the North." She said thoughtfully and pressed the bumpy skin with a manicured forefinger and slid the sleeve back down. "FP and I eventually got into a haphazard relationship, his heart was always in the South and he refused to budge, so I moved alone and we ended it." 

Mind exploding and recoiling at the thought of Alice Cooper and my father together, my nose wrinkled involuntarily. "So what did my Dad say when you told him what you were planning to do?" 

"Tried to stop me of course, he was always so damn persistent! He insisted that I would be betraying my tribe, or whatever. But I'd already made up my mind and he wasn't enough for me anymore, no matter how much I liked him." She cleared her throat and checked her hair was still in perfect place. "One day, I met Hal Cooper and FP moved onto your mother. The rest is pretty much history. We both got on with our lives and have rarely talked since." She trailed off as we walked in silence, but I didn't miss out on the slight wistful tone as she recounted her memories.

I was confused at why she was telling me all of this, but didn't want to offend her. Alice Cooper never did anything pointless, unless there was something else she was aiming for.

"Anyway, she continued. "During my time in the Serpents, I became known as 'The Tigerlilly'. I grew to learn a lot about myself and others. It really shaped me as an impressionable teenager, but also left a lot of scars as well. Some of which I still struggle with today. There were so many reckless and stupid things we did, but because I was so immersed in this totally different world – I didn't stop to think about myself and got in deeper than I wanted. You're swallowed into the gang and suddenly, every decision becomes about the best course of action for _everyone_ , not just you." She sighed bitterly and cast a sideways glance at me.

"You're talking about me now, Mrs. Cooper?"

"Alice," she pressed. "Yes I am. You're too young to get involved with them, but I have no power over you. I agree that Fred's killer needs to be brought to justice, but you're thinking of something very extreme." 

"And what else do I do?" I held out my arms in exasperation. "You heard that Betty's in danger too, I assume? If anything is going to control this situation – it'll be me joining the gang."

She scowled, pleasantries and politeness clearly out of the window. "Betty will be in much more danger with you having one foot on the North and one on the South. Don't you see, Jughead? The snakes will command your absolute respect and loyalty. They won't tolerate you only giving half of yourself to them! If you want some _friendly_ advice; cut off all ties here and go deep. That's the only way you'll gain the trust to get what you're looking for." She sub-consciously glanced around the darkened garden to check that we were still alone, lowering her tone.

"Can't do that," I said. "I promised Betty a long time ago that I would be there for her." 

"Being a Serpent," she whispered. "Is a way of life, not a hobby. You will live and breathe it. You won't have the time to be distracted." 

"I refuse to break Betty's heart. I'm not leaving her." I idly wondered if this was the plan of the infamous Alice Cooper all along? How long had she been planning and scheming this one?

"You really think so _low of me_ that I would purposely want to destroy her happiness?" She snapped, reading my expression. "Betty's never loved anyone or anything more than what she seems to feel for you. As a mother – it's rewarding to see her so happy and confident. But as long as you're involved with other things, she'll end up getting hurt." 

"Mrs-… Alice," I breathed in the cool air deeply, desperate not to lose my edge. "I love Betty more than I could ever hope to describe. She is _literally_ my everything and without her, I'm nothing. I would die gladly, before letting anything happen to her." I firmly held her steely gaze as she stared at me. Eventually, she relented and backed down.

"Just like your father," she sighed. "He was so sure of himself too." A rare smile played on the edge of her lips and she turned her head towards me. "It may not seem like it, but I don't _hate_ you, Jughead." 

"You don't like me either." I ventured.

"I don't like any boys that get too close to my daughters," she admitted. "But I'm doing better than Hal at least and learning to slowly let go." 

"Whatever happens, just know that I won't let Betty down." I promised.

She nodded slowly. "You better hope you have an idea of what you're getting into." She warned finally, snapping back into her frosty, business like exterior. Without another word, she turned on her smart heels and marched swiftly back into the hall and joined the party, leaving me to ponder on what the hell just happened.


	8. 8 - Betty

**Chp. 8 – Betty.**

It was the pitter-pattering sound of rain that woke me from my deep slumber. As soon as my eyelids fluttered open, my head began to throb unpleasantly. The small droplets of rain sounded like huge missiles, colliding on the tin roof of the trailer; a constant smashing through to my brain. The sharp scent of wet grass drifted through the open window, filling my nose with its sickly smell.

The world felt ominous before I'd even had the chance to open my eyes properly. There was no real excuse for me drinking way over my threshold the night before, except for the fact that I was stressed, lost and confused all at once. I was precariously treading water before the tide came in to sweep me away, eventually.

With a pang, I recalled the night before ended in definitive heartbreak from Veronica, as we walked her home in tears from the festival. She was completely crushed and desolate, an understanding reaction from the verbal abuse, hurled at her by Archie. Her mistake, was confiding in him that her father was soon due to come home. Archie had flown into a fit of rage, calling her family 'fake' and 'cold'.

I could only be strong enough to defend Archie for so long, before he really crossed the line into destroying our friendship. I could barely believe the cute little red-headed boy from my childhood, was now so angry and vicious. In a way, I admired Jughead for his connection to the Andrews' family and how far he was willing to go to get his best friend back. He was so much stronger and braver than me.

My fingertips lightly grazed the mattress next to me, feeling no warmth nearby. Indicating that Jughead must have woken up a while ago and wandered off somewhere.

Bleary-eyed, I checked my phone on the bedside table which confirmed it was mid-morning, January 1st.

I sat up slowly, bracing against the roaring pounding of my head and steadied myself for a moment, as the room spun for a few seconds. I'd never experienced a serious hangover in my life before, and this was surely not an experience that I wanted to remember.

My dress was scrunched up into a ball on the floor – no doubt the work of the infamous Jughead Jones. With a horrifying realisation, I remembered I would have to endure a walk of shame home, later wearing the same outfit. I dreaded to think of my mother's tight-lipped expression of what the neighbours might think.

I had a weird, strong feeling that she knew very well that I was coming home with Jughead the night before. When I asked if I could spend the night with Veronica, my mother had put her arms around me and tearfully smiled, patting my hair.

"You're so big and strong." She whispered into my hair at the time, slurring after various drinks. "You really have fallen for the Jones boy, haven't you?"

Taken aback, I nodded and murmured: "I love him more than anything." With a quick, tearful goodbye, she let me go.

I shivered, goosebumps creeping across the naked skin of my arms and back. Grabbing the sheet tight, I leaned up to the window and pulled it shut.

"Jughead?" I croaked, calling out. Straining my ears, there was no response and no sound of movement in the kitchen or living room. There was only the sounds of raindrops.

Frowning, I wrapped the bedsheet securely around myself and padded into the hallway, rubbing my eyes sleepily. The other rooms were completely devoid of any life. Racking my brain, I tried to recall if he woke me up to let me know where he was going before he left. I was pretty sure I was still drunk, memories slightly hazy.

Sure enough, the room began to spin and twist uncontrollably. Groaning, I slammed myself against the wall to get my bearings before I fell down. My stomach lurched loudly and there was a burning feeling in the back of my throat. Before I could think, my legs launched me into the bathroom and I stuck my head in the toilet, proceeding to vomit the entire contents of my body.

I retched loudly, hoping to God that this wasn't the moment that Jughead decided to return home and find me in such a sorry state. We'd been together for nearly six months, but hadn't experienced the 'long term relationship' point yet, where it didn't matter anymore. I wasn't sure how long I was curled up for, on the bathroom floor. But my stomach seemed satisfied that it'd expelled everything.

I flushed the toilet, shakily rising back to my feet to stick my face under the cold water in the sink and brush my teeth. I silently thanked my more responsible self, for storing urgent hygiene supplies in the trailer for such occasions.

Daring a quick glance in the mirror, there was a pale faced girl staring back at me. Her hair was in a complete mess with remnants of last night's makeup streaked across her eyes and dark, heavy bags situated under them. What I found difficult to deal with, was the hopeless look in my eyes as they reflected on the experiences on the last year and the growing up we all had to endure. I'd seen this look before – reflected in Jughead and the rest of our friends. We were tired, inside. Waiting for a resolution to the dark period we were trapped in.

"Get yourself together, Betty." I scolded myself and pulled my hair back into a messy bun. My friends were counting on me to be strong, to be brave and smart. We'd find a way through this darkness. I refused to go through yet another bad year.

I dragged the bed sheet with me back into the living room, to see a wet Jughead entering the front door. He stopped as soon as he caught sight of me. My eyes flickered down to the leather jacket he was wearing. The Serpent Jacket.

"Uhh, Happy New Year." I smiled weakly.

"Hey there, Juliet." He shrugged the wet jacket off as quickly as he could and tossed it back onto its original space on the coat rack. I stood standing, watching awkwardly and not quite knowing what to say.

"Do I honestly _look_ like Juliet right now?" I cracked to ease the shock.

"You're beautiful as always," he confirmed. "Are you okay, you look flushed?"

"Yeah, peachy," I coughed, throat burning. "Don't even look at me."

He chuckled; it was a sweet sound but reverberated around my sore head. He stepped forwards to flick the kettle for a morning coffee and traced his fingertips up and down my naked back.

"Are you even hungover?" I asked bitterly.

"No," he smiled. "I didn't drink half the contents of the bar last night. I got up early anyway, there were some things I had to take care of."

I glanced over at the damp Serpent jacket, he followed my gaze. We both turned slowly to look at one another.

"You went to the Whyte Wyrm this morning, didn't you?" I whispered. He looked away almost immediately, ashamed and nodded slowly. He silently continued to make coffee for both of us. I leaned against the counter. He too, wore bags under his eyes – remnants from our long night and early morning. He looked wiser somehow, more world weary. It was probably a good thing; he would need to be strong in order to keep up with the Serpents.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked quietly, an edge of fear in his tone. His eyes flashed to me as he slid the cup over.

"No," I sighed. "I just wish it didn't have to be this way."

"Tell me about it," he joked. "If this is going to be too hard for you Betts, I'd appreciate it if you told me now. We'll go our separate ways – no hard feelings. No animosity." I could see the crinkles of worry at the corners of his downturned mouth at the thought. He was terrified. I couldn't decipher if it was because of my reaction, or what he'd signed up to do.

"Jughead Jones," I whispered and touched my hand to his damp one. "I may be _severely_ hung over and lacking in judgement as I think I'm still drunk. But I promised that I would stick by you until the very end, wherever that may be. We've come so far," I shrugged. "You really don't need to worry about me."

"Damn, you're good at those inspiring speeches," he smiled. "And worrying about you, is part of my job as a decent boyfriend."

I moved forwards into his grasp and we held onto each other for a few minutes. I inhaled his sweet scent, thick with the rain and earthly smell of the outside. His whole body was tense with unspoken anxiety.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked breezily and gratefully sipped the coffee.

He glanced at the sheen of the jacket. "I need to earn their trust and integrate. Show that I'm loyal. Hopefully, the fact that I'm FP's son, should hold some weight above the other Rookies."

"With any luck," I agreed. "So what now. Did they issue you with your very own bat signal, so they can call you?"

"It doesn't work like that," he laughed. "I have to take an initiation and pledge my allegiance within the next week. Work begins after. Should be fairly routine, nothing to worry about. Knowing my Dad, he'd have made their traditions more ceremonial than anything else."

"Hopefully."

He paused, smile slipping slightly. "It's funny, they didn't even seem surprised to see me stroll into the bar. It's like they expected it."

I cocked my head. "That bothers you?"

He nodded, eyes focusing on the aged dents in the tiling of the kitchen wall. "They obviously thought I'd have no trouble following in my father's footsteps. It's ironic, I'm not even doing this for myself!" There was a bitter finality to his tone. I rubbed his back gently.

"This does _not_ define you, Juggie. You're doing this for Archie, for Fred. They don't know you, or anything about the real you."

"I don't even know the real me," he admitted and rubbed his hair. "A year ago, I wouldn't even have considered doing anything like this. Mom and Jellybean were still here. Jason and Fred were still alive. You were pining over Archie and focusing on getting the best grades. When did all of that change so suddenly?"

I shrugged. "It's just life, Jug. We've all changed. I moved on from my crush with Archie and fell in love with you. In turn, you learned to open up to me. There's a lot of good in there too, besides the bad things."

"True," he nodded. "But I wish we had more time to enjoy those good parts. Do you have any idea how much I would give to live a normal life with you?"

"Oh, I have an idea." I grinned. Thankfully, the headache has subsided into a dull throb in the temples, largely down to the coffee and it didn't hurt as much to think. Jughead still retained the slightly troubled look in his eyes, but there wasn't much more I could do for him.

It was later on that day, when Veronica texted me to confirm that her father was due to arrive back home within the next week. Her message positively radiated happiness at the thought of her family getting back together and I briefly wondered if she would be able to forgive the hurt he inflicted on the family, or if he and Hermione would stay together for much longer.

Walking into my kitchen, I threw down my keys on the counter and turned to face Mary Andrews and my mother drinking coffee at the breakfast bar. In unison, they both took a long look my crinkled dress from the night before, up and down with raised eyebrows. I tried to offset the look with Jughead's fur-lined jean jacket, which only seemed to make the look worse.

"I didn't take a spare set of clothes." I explained lamely.

Mom sighed. "It's fine, Elizabeth. You're home now anyway." She surprisingly relented, not even looking as if she wanted to grill me about my evening away from home. The woman had ended up drinking a lot more than me, yet still stood fresh-faced with her perfect makeup and hair.

"Yeah, I have homework for when school starts again on Monday. Figured I'd get a good start on it." I smiled, starting to make a beeline for the stairs until Mary stopped me.

"Sit, come and have a drink with us," she jiggled the half-filled coffee jug. "We're just two older women moaning about the world anyway. Maybe you'll make us feel more youthful."

"One of us at least." Mom quipped and slid a clean mug over to me. I took the jar and filled it to the brim with the dark liquid, not bothering to put sugar or milk in.

"Dark coffee today kind of girl, eh?" Mary winked in approval.

"Not usually," I admitted. "I uh… Had a lot to drink last night. I need to have a clear head for my essays and studying. It's an important year for exams, so I want to get a good head start."

Mary smiled, glancing at my mother. "And here I am, barely able to get Archie to put his shoes away when he gets home!" She shook her head. "I heard the festival last night was the best one yet?"

"You didn't go?" I questioned. I recalled briefly that Jughead had torn after Archie straight after his wreck of a performance. I never managed to track his mother down amongst the heaving crowd of party-goers. I let go of the breath I didn't realise I was holding, glad that Mary was spared from his drunken antics.

"No, no," she smiled. "I wasn't in a party mood. I'd gotten a lead on where that reporter vermin was hiding, so I tried to go and track him down with no luck." She slammed the cup down a little harder than usual on the glossy table, frustrated.

I pasted on a sympathetic face and glanced at my mother, who locked eyes with me, unblinking. I got the impression she was silently trying to communicate something. With a cold feeling in my gut, I was suddenly very suspicious that she somehow knew about my meeting with Chic. Her taught jaw bone said it all. I got the message loud and clear; _Keep your mouth shut._

Opting to say nothing, I continued to down the scalding hot coffee and fast as possible. Mom rubbed Mary's back gently in a rare public showing of compassion for another human being. I struggled to recall a similar memory, _ever_.

"How is he doing?" I murmured. "He rarely talks to us now."

Mary's sharp features crumbled slightly. "He doesn't really speak to me either. He misses his father so much, I can see it's really shaken him. I'm trying to play both roles, but it's so hard…" She trailed off, sniffing hard and blinking. As she sat, huddled in the middle of our kitchen – I couldn't help but notice how small she looked, a huge difference from the fierce lawyer everyone knew her to be. I glanced down, struggling to look at her crushed expression any longer. Archie wasn't the only one suffering Fred's loss deeply.

 _He needs to support you too, you need each other in your grief._ I almost said aloud.

"Kids are resilient," Mom said wisely. "He just needs to work through it in his own time."

"He goes out all day, every day, Alice. One of his football friends even came looking for him the other day. Everyone's worried. I can almost _smell_ the judgement from other parents in this town," Mary turned her attention to me. "Betty – do you know where Archie goes? Is he hanging out with his girlfriend?"

I blushed, suddenly thrown into the spotlight. How could I even possibly begin to put into words; the sheer agony, worry and sleepless nights, her son had inflicted on us all, during the past few awful months? How could I explain that my boyfriend felt as if he needed to join a notorious biker gang, just to find out what they know and help Archie through this sooner? Or that his girlfriend was curled up at home on her own, broken and upset?

"I have no idea where he goes," I said truthfully. "We're all confused. He just doesn't want to talk to anyone."

Mom sighed and glanced at her old school friend. "Maybe you should just take him back home with you? Start anew?"

Mary snorted. "He's barely gotten to grips with living together again. If he's like this _now_ , how do you think he'll react when I suggest a move to Chicago?"

"He would never leave until the killer is caught." I muttered with all of the confidence I possessed. I knew my red-headed friend well.

Mary nodded slowly in agreement and drained the remainder of her coffee, checking her watch. "I need to get going – I'm meeting Keller at three." She arose from the breakfast bar and pulled on her long winter coat.

"I'll see you out," Mom smiled. "You'd better get dressed – Elizabeth."

Not needing to be told twice, I took my dishevelled self, upstairs to my room after saying a quick goodbye to Mary. Folding my legs underneath me on the bed, I shot Archie a half-hearted text, about how much we needed to seriously talk. Things were fast spiralling out of control, but I was deeply glad that Mary didn't get the chance to see her son's embarrassing performance, the night before.

The last few days of Christmas break shot past uneventfully. Shockingly predictable, Archie hadn't bothered to text me back or answer any of my calls. Mom hadn't mentioned anything further, about the possibility of me finding Chic, or even about New Year's night with Jughead. I was anxious about the threads of fate I was becoming entangled in.

Monday morning, she decided to drive Polly and I to school – it was now considered dangerous to walk alone on the streets apparently in Riverdale, so the roads were filled with tired parents on the school run. Polly retained a permanent smug smile, after arguing profusely that she wanted an education up until she entered labour. I knew better, Mom was driving her crazy indoors every day and she wanted to escape. Surprisingly, Mom relented and gave in.

We went our separate ways when we arrived – Polly went to track down her circle of friends and I headed straight to the common room to waste time, before first period started. Everything was still in the same place as it was left, although a lot cleaner. It was empty and devoid of any other life, filled with squashy couches and armchairs, adorned by posters and school bulletins around the walls. Someone had even taken the time to replenish the old vending machines, now filled with drinks and snacks.

I sank down on my usual old loveseat, suddenly pining for the beanie-headed boy that used to take up the space beside me. I was sit not used to feeling his protective warmth, hovering nearby. I would have done anything to rewind the past 6 months in an effort to stop Fred Andrews stepping into Pop's and triggering the chain of events that affected all of us.

There was a flurry of sudden movement, followed by the sounds of heels clacking on the polished wooden floors. Veronica appeared and took the empty seat next to me, flashing one of her confident smiles.

"Hey B, ready for another year, huh?" She nodded towards the room, looking about as happy as I was, to be trapped inside this building again.

I rolled my eyes. "Do we have a choice?" Ronnie and I hadn't spoken much since the New Years incident with Archie and I didn't dare pry further into the argument. I noticed underneath her flawless makeup and stencilled brows; she was wearier, emotionally exhausted.

"I'm fine, you can wipe that look off your face." She said automatically, glancing down at her gleaming designer heels.

"No look from me," I defended. "I was actually going to suggest we hang out after school? Kev has insisted, that he may have found a good hangout until Pop's is back open."

"If the Death Diner decides it wants to reopen," she muttered grimly. "Sorry B – I'd love to, but my Dad is coming home this afternoon. I'm blowing off last period to go to the airport with my Mom and pick him up." She smiled nervously as if she was worried about my reaction. I couldn't blame her, after the way Archie took the news.

"Ron, that's amazing!" I exclaimed and hugged her. "It's good, right?"

"For my mother and I – yes. Although, I think it will just about spell the end for I and a certain red-haired menace." Rolling her eyes, she took a sip of her takeaway coffee.

"He'll get over it," I insisted. "He's just suspicious of everyone and everything, right now."

"Oh, he won't. Imagine how this will look to him: His father is brutally murdered after my father found out about the affair he was having with my Mother. My father is then released from prison a few months later to return back to the town to play happy families," she snorted. "Nothing kills a relationship more, than a murder investigation. Am I right?"

"You don't believe your father actually had anything to do with it though, do you?"

She smiled, tight lipped. "My father is far from a good, honourable man. But he loves his family and I don't think he's capable of murder. Especially when it's so _obvious._ The town would have seen Fred and my mother out together."

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Ronnie." I patted her knee gently and smiled confidently.

"I hope so," she glanced down at her bitten fingernails, inspecting her work. "Worst thing is, I can't even really blame him for being such an asshole. He lost his _father_ for nothing. He's trying to grab at straws to make himself feel better. You watch Betty, he'll be heading to the Whyte Wyrm next, demanding to know who done it." She fell silent, focusing on her coffee. My heart skipped a beat, hoping that she wasn't on the mark with her prediction. The last thing we needed, was for Archie to walk onto the South Side, guns blazing and find Jughead with the Serpents.

The bell rung loudly to signify that the school year has officially begun, prompting Veronica and I to head to our first class of the year.

The rest of the morning remained busy, in a flurry of lectures about exams and homework being of paramount importance for the next year ahead. We were paired up randomly in Biology for the next semester's project. I landed a sheepish-looking Reggie as a partner, who moved his things quietly next to me to begin.

"Hey Betty," he half smiled. "Heard from Archie, yet?" It seemed to be the unofficial question of the day as Ronnie, Kevin and I, perfected our fake smiles and replies of; "He's fine." To all who dared to ask. There were wild stories and rumours floating around the school, of Archie being drunk and disorderly somewhere over the holidays. He was fast becoming the accidental poster child for a mental breakdown, with students nodding their heads in agreement that what happened to him was terrible and then talking excitedly about his performance at the New Year festival.

As the loyal friends we were, we denied firmly that he was having serious anger issues and insisted that he was coping and trying to move on. Before lunch, a younger student had nervously approached me – goaded by her friends, to ask if he was walking around with a concealed gun for protection.

"Of course _not_ ," I snapped. "He's not in the Mafia!" I made a mental note to discuss with my friends later, the realism of this rumour.

Wanting to escaping the stares inside, we made our way to our usual lunch table, situated in the frosty air outside. I noticed that Reggie had followed us and helped himself to a spot on the bench.

"Is there a supreme shortage of Jocks with you to sit with?" Veronica shot sharply. "Just because we're two men down, doesn't mean we have an opening." She was irritated, having been questioned all day by various students as well. Reggie blinked calmly, allowing her to vent before he shrugged and bit into his apple.

"I'm here for support," he was nonplussed. "Archie is my friend too and one of my strongest players on the team. By extension, you lucky people have also inherited me as an ally." He grinned widely, extending his arms to us.

"We're not in the habit of taking in strays." Kevin muttered.

"Room for one more?" A sickeningly sweet voice interrupted before Reggie could respond. A flurry of red hair, pushed between Veronica and I, forcing us to slide up the bench further. Cheryl smiled expectantly with her perfect red lips and began to eat her salad. Kev, Ronnie and I shared an incredulous look between one another.

"Anyone else?" Kevin called and glanced around at the other few students dotted around outside. "Dilton Doily, maybe?"

Cheryl winked. "Don't be glum, my sad breakfast club. I'm only here to extend an olive branch."

"Are you going to burn the school down, next?" Reggie chanced, in-between mouthfuls of apple.

"I wouldn't ruin your only chance of a sub-standard education," she quipped back, glaring at him. "Besides, I know what everyone's saying about me." She trailed off and caught the stares and whispers being shot in our direction. Blushing slightly, she bit her lip and focussed on picking through the salad, not used to playing the role of social pariah. I honestly felt sorry for her – having to deal with the death of her twin brother, murdered by her own father and a mother, who despised her existence.

Under the table, Ronnie and I grabbed both of her hands and shot reassuring smiles towards her, which she returned. Not one to dwell, she continued on with her lunch, looking a little bit more comfortable. I mused, wondering what Jughead would think about our new social group.

"I honestly can't deal with any more questions, today," Veronica muttered. "I'm going to scream at the next Freshman that dares to walk up to me, asking if Archie and I are still together. When did this even become public knowledge?"

"Social media, sweetpea. Some _Neanderthal_ has decided to try and get "#archiewatch" trending." Kev rolled his eyes dramatically. "Honestly, it would be funny if it wasn't so sad and real. These kids will jump onto anything."

"It needs to stop," I scowled. "This is getting ridiculous. They're all acting like he's some kind of _celebrity,_ they can't stop taking about."

Kevin opened his mouth to reply and promptly closed it shut again, eyes widening. I followed his gaze towards the entrance to the quad, where Archie was hunched over on the stairs in the distance, alone. A few students were stood nearby, shooting looks over at him and discussing animatedly between themselves.

Before having the chance to talk myself out of it, I mumbled a hasty goodbye to my friends and seized my bag around my shoulders, marching across the tarmac before he had a chance to disappear again.

The closer I got, the more I noticed Archie's dishevelled appearance; the creases in his clothes, and the dull smell of old alcohol in the air. I could have kicked him for being so stupid and not taking care of himself. He glanced up at the dark shadow looming over him on the stairs.

"Archie Andrews," I breathed. "Do you want to tell me, what the _hell_ is going on with you?"

Taken aback by my venomous tone, he scowled. "I wondered when you would come and yell at me."

"Damn straight," I hissed, fists clenching. "You do realise that you're single-handedly destroying every relationship, you have in this town – right? I'm sorry from that bottom of my heart, about your father. But you are being the _biggest_ asshole, right now." Struggling to keep my voice at a normal level, I could see interested faces pointed in my direction as they stepped within earshot to listen in on our heated exchange. For once, I didn't care. Archie sure as hell, didn't.

"Leave me alone, Betty." He warned.

"You have _no_ idea how much we all care for you and want to help," I continued. "Hell, Jughead is out there right now, trying to formulate plans to help catch the killer and make sense of it all! I bet you ignored his messages as well, didn't you?"

"And what exactly is he going to do?" Archie snorted. "Enlighten me, Betty. What is my cowardly best friend, going to do, to help me?"

"Cowardly? He is worth _ten_ of you, right now," I snarled. My nails bit into the raw skin of my palms, I could feel the soft familiar oozing of blood. "The only _cowardly_ one right here, is you. The boy running away from his feelings, too scared to face them and own them. You're the one, drunk all of the time, making a complete embarrassment of yourself. Do you realise what you're doing to your Mom?" I gestured violently, unable to stop the hysterical anger from rising up inside my chest. Breathing heavily, I glanced around to see we'd attracted a small gathering of onlookers. In the distance, my friends stared unabashed at us.

Archie opened his mouth and subsequently closed it again, struggling to find the right words to shoot back at me. His expression mirrored the lost one, we saw the day we visited him in the hotel. It was the first time he'd looked so vulnerable in months. I could feel the remnants of my old friend, hidden inside. Deep down.

Letting my anger and frustration ebb away, I sighed and took the stair next to him, bringing my knees up to my face. We sat in completely silence for a little while as our small audience slowly filtered away.

"I'm struggling," he admitted. "I'm so angry all the time. Searching for answers that just aren't there. I keep… Looking back, wondering what I could have done differently to save him." He inhaled slowly, voice catching.

"You couldn't have saved him," I muttered. "You did the best you could. He would have done anything to prevent you from being hurt."

"I shouldn't have gone to the bathroom. If I'd sat in the booth with him from the beginning, maybe I would've had a chance to notice the guy acting suspiciously and taken him down." He clenched his knuckles, flexing them on the concrete stairs until they turned white.

"Or maybe you would have been killed." I said gently.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly Betty, I think Hiram hired the Serpent's to complete the hit. But I can't prove it. Not yet. He found out about my Dad and Hermione."

"We will find out who," I promised. "But you can't be aggressive to _everyone_. Jughead and Veronica are our friends. They won't appreciate you shooting off your mouth about your theories…"

"-… Betty, I don't care. My father is dead," he was incredulous. "I'll do this my way. And I'll do this alone. I'll find a way to expose them. Friends be damned." He scrambled to his feet, stumbling and pulled his bag up with him. He snatched his arm away automatically when I tried to help.

"Arch, this doesn't solely rest on your shoulders. You need to let this go, before it's too late and you lose everything." I bit my lip, determined not to burst into tears and show weakness. I wished I could mention Jughead and his insane quest, but it would only make things a million times worse. I needed Archie in a totally un-biased, state of mind.

"I've already lost everything." He muttered finally and walked off across the quad, towards the building.

There was nothing more to say, I was more or less done with trying to get through to Archie Andrews. I let him walk away without calling him back or chasing after him. I was done trying to appeal to my oldest friend and open up. He only retreated further into himself.

I didn't see Archie around the school for the rest of the week and had no desire to try and locate him myself. My focus had to be on helping Jughead any way I could, so he could finish his mission as fast as possible and go back to his normal life. Safe and normal.

It was Friday night and my parents were out of the house with Polly, for her mid-wife check up at the hospital - leaving me free to roam around the house in my pyjamas and eat ice cream all evening, mildly wondering what happened to my social life.

I flicked mindlessly through the television channels and landed on a Nancy Drew two-hour special. Ten minutes in, my alone time was sorely interrupted by the shrill ringing of my phone on the glass table. I frowned, not recognising the number.

"Hello?"

"Betty," someone said breathlessly. "It's me."

I blinked, trying to distinguish who exactly 'me' was. After a few moments of awkward silence, the ball finally dropped.

"Chic," I murmured. "Hi. How are you?" I had already prepared myself for the older boy to never use the phone number I wrote down for him.

"Fine," he grunted. "All things considered. Where are you now?"

"At home." I replied. There was a strange edge to his tone that unsettled me slightly. I could hear the wind whipping in the speaker alongside thumping sounds on the pavement. "Chic, are you _running_?"

"Yes. Listen – lock your doors and windows, stay inside. Tell your she-devil friend to do the same."

"Veronica? Chic, what's going on?" I whispered anxiously.

He cursed, panting heavily down the line. "Doing you a favour and telling you to stay alert. You owe me this. I think I'm being followed, Betty."

My stomach felt as if it had been plunged into a bucket of ice water. At once, I darted around the house to check all locks and entry points, all of which were deadbolted safely.

"Are you sure?" I pressed. "You aren't being overly paranoid?

"Of course not," he snapped. "Tom's dead. I found him lying face down in the bar, when I went down to give him his rent money earlier. Whoever killed him, didn't even take anything. It's crazy, but I think they were trying to get to me.

"It might not have been murder," I racked my brain, thinking. "He might have even had an underlying health condition, heart attack maybe?"

"One hundred percent sure. Tom was a miserable bastard, but he was never suicidal enough to cut his wrists open and let himself bleed out everywhere." He broke off, muttering to himself about hiding places.

I was confused, barely comprehending the words that he said. I remembered Ronnie and I briefly meeting Tom as we tried to track down Chic, but couldn't recall his facial features. The world spun around me uncontrollably and I collapsed down to my knees on the landing, hand over my distraught face. The killer had undoubtedly, struck again. Even to do as far as disguise the murder as a suicide. Tom was miserable and rude to us, but didn't deserve his ending as much as Fred.

"Why would he go after Tom?" I whispered, shaking.

Chic fell silent, thinking. "The only correlation, is that Tom was also in Pop's that morning. He left just moments before the killer walked into the building. We were briefly talking about renting out one of his guest rooms to me."

"He might have seen the killer before he walked in. Logically, he would have pulled the balaclava over his face first before entering." My brain whirred quietly as I explored this theory. Chic paused, silence as he stopped running to listen.

"If so, he didn't mention anything to me about it," he sighed. "I regret writing this damn article. It has literally brought me nothing but trouble. Maybe the killer is cutting down witnesses after so much traction and is getting twitchy?"

"That's drastic and insane. The police would catch on-…"

"-… They haven't had anything in months. Half the town is out looking for this creep and I say he's getting nervous. You need to lay low with you friend, just in case. I've got a few friends who can put me up for a while."

"W-what do I do?" I choked.

"Stay vigilant," he said firmly. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this. I'll give you a call if I find out anything else." Before I could string together a gabbled response, Chic ended the call abruptly and I was plunged into total silence.

Heart hammering in my chest, I weighed up the serious pros and cons of telling my family and Sheriff Keller what was happening. That I was possibly in danger. Grabbing the phone, fingers poised to dial for the police station; I remembered that my sister was heavily pregnant and did not need to be stressed out any further. If anyone wanted to hurt me for getting more people involved, she would be the easiest target.

It was crazy, like something out of the Nancy Drew special itself. Was I really in danger of being targeted, for talking to one of the witnesses, who knew nothing about the killer's identity? I shivered, this was further down the psychopath line, than the Clifford Blossom situation.

My fingers found the phone number that I was looking for. I held the phone to my ear once again.

"Jug, it's Betty. Call me back when you can, it's urgent."


	9. 9 - Jughead

**Chp. 9 – Jughead.**

There were not very many things that I feared in life. In my eyes, the worst had already happened – I lost my entire family into near oblivion, was forced to live on the South Side of Riverdale with complete strangers and watched a man kill his own son in cold blood.

I liked to go through life with low expectations, so as not to be severely disappointed with cold reality. It worked for me, mostly. Before I knew it, I'd fallen for my golden headed princess who was passionate, fierce and brave. She embodied every single characteristic that passed over me. Suddenly, my world was in tunnel vision and every single decision, revolved around her. My worst fears involved around her disappearing suddenly, one day coming to terms with the fact that I wasn't worth a future with her.

It scared me, how much I wanted to protect this innocent, beautiful girl. Which is exactly why I didn't tell her my second reasoning for joining the Serpents; to protect her.

When I received her voicemail, I was immediately panicked and anxious, wondering what the hell was going on. I dropped whatever I was doing to go to her. It was a darkened Thursday evening with only the pink glow of her bedroom light, illuminated against the night. Grabbing the ladder from the back of the house, I quietly walked around the building to her window and propped it up against the wall.

I glanced up at Archie's window, glad that the curtains were closed and the room was dark. I didn't have the energy for another testosterone filled battle royale with him.

Ascending the ladder gracefully, I peered through the frosted glass and saw Betty pacing around her bedroom, wringing her hands anxiously. She visibly jumped when I tapped on the glass and motioned for her to open the window.

"Jughead," she hissed as soon as it flew open. "You couldn't have told me, that you were coming?" She peered past me, into the dark garden below and down the street, straining her eyes against the darkness. Satisfied, she stepped back and allowed me to clamber over the windowsill.

"I came as soon as I could," I muttered and quietly pulled the window down behind me, immediately closing off the gush of cold air. Dusting myself down, I caught sight of the look on her face. "What's wrong, Betts?" 

She was visibly distressed, eyes darting back and forth and not quite meeting my own. I stepped forwards and pulled her close into my chest, inhaling her scent. I pulled a lock of hair and tucked it behind her ears.

"I'm in this too _deep_ ," she growled. "I messed up, Jug. I don't know what to do." Sniffing, tears began to roll down her cheeks. She wiped them away roughly, determined not to let me see her cry.

"What with," I pressed. "Us?" 

"No! No. Chic called, he's scared. He thinks that the killer is targeting witnesses from the Diner and that he'll be next," she paused to take a deep, shaky breath. "Chic's friend has been murdered. He thinks that it was deliberately made to look like suicide." 

"That's makes no sense," I mused. "He'd have to be extremely confident that he wouldn't be caught. One murder, he might be able to run from – but several?" I frowned deeply, clutching tightly onto the trembling girl in my arms. My heart pounded quietly with the realisation that Kevin and I were right; the killer wasn't yet done. Betty was in danger.

"What if he has resources, Jug? Friends?" She glanced up at me, eyes shining.

"They'd have to be great friends to help him with something like this," I muttered. "If Archie murdered someone and asked me to help kill off all witnesses, I'd have to tell him to get lost." 

She punched me lightly in the arm, not amused. "I'm being serious, Jughead. Chic told me that Veronica and I needed to watch our backs!" 

"I know," I apologised and held her tighter. "Betts, I won't let anything happen to you. I'll protect you from anything. He's right though, you do need to be careful. Jeez Betty, I wish you would have brought me with you."

"You were busy with your Dad," she protested. "It was only a secondary thing. Besides, I was doing everything I could, to stop you having to join a notorious street gang!" The determined look in her eye, only suggested that she would happily argue with me all night, if given the chance.

I sighed, shoulders sagging. "Let's piece together what we know so far." Grabbing one of her collection of feathered pens and a sheet of paper from the desk, I sat crossed-legged on the huge bed. She threw herself down beside me, head buried in the sheets.

"Okay," I began. "So it all started that morning; Fred Andrews went to visit my Dad in his cell. We don't know what they talked about and why." 

"Your Dad won't say?" 

"I'm working on it," I sighed. "We need to know. After Fred left, he headed straight to the Diner to meet Archie and picked out their usual table. Arch walks in and announces he needs to use the restroom." 

"Chic is seated at a table across the room. His friend Tom, has just gotten up and left the Diner, potentially passing the killer in the parking lot," Betty paused. "Killer walks in, takes everyone hostage." 

"Archie comes back, sees what's going on. The killer points his gun at Fred and Archie attempts to dive between them both to protect him."

"The bullet still hits Fred," she finished quietly. "Fred was always the target." 

"Chic pretty much confirmed that. But why Fred? Everyone loved him. He did his best by everyone and had literally no enemies." I nibbled my lip and leaned back on the loud pink bedsheets. Betty groaned miserably into the mattress. I patted her soft, golden hair fondly until she calmed down and arched a cerulean eye towards me.

"Well, he has one potential enemy." She whispered.

"Hiram Lodge," I confirmed. "The godfather, pulling strings during his prison time. He could have hired this guy to assassinate Fred for getting involved with Hermione."

Betty made a face. "He's been granted early release from prison. Veronica and her Mom went to meet him from the airport today. They're going to be living here for a while." She fell silent, unconsciously rubbing her arms in anxiety. I cupped my hand on her face and stared into her eyes.

"Betts, stop worrying. I can see right through you. If the killer is risking himself to take down all of the witnesses, I don't think he would logically go further afield than that. The best thing you can do, is lie low for now." My fingers danced down to her chin and I shot her a comforting smile.

She blanched. "No way Jug – we've already made progress. Don't bench me now!" 

"Where safety is concerned, I have to. Leave it to me, it's my turn to go digging, okay?" I was firm and to the point. There was literally nothing she could do or say that would change my mind. She was the single most precious thing to me, and goddam I would protect her with everything I had.

I was a survivor and knew how to make myself invisible in this town and get around unseen. I'd gotten pretty good at it through seventeen years of life. The female academic prodigy that was Betty Cooper, was way too tenacious and vibrant to not go unnoticed. She'd already drawn too much attention to herself and now, Alice Cooper was onto me.

"Do you trust me, Betts?" I asked softly.

"You know I do, Juggie," she answered automatically, rolling her eyes. "But I don't want you to get hurt either."

"I've dealt with worse demons." I murmured. Like Betty, I too had a dark side that I was reluctant to share with anyone. She punched me lightly on the arm and I dived forward to pin her to the bed as she squealed and giggled under me.

Outside, the sound of Hal Cooper's car pulling into the driveway, was a sore reminder that it was my cue to leave.

"I better get going, beautiful." 

She leaned up on the bed and planted a soft kiss on my lips. I could feel her smiling against my mouth. "I love you, Jug."

"I love you too, Betts."

The next morning was bleak and speckled with light rain. Fog had drifted inland from Sweet Water River and drowned the entire town in its thick haze, choking it into the near oblivion it felt like. I sat at the breakfast bar in the middle of the Matthew's family kitchen, nursing a huge cup of coffee, gazing into the dark swirly shapes. It was just over an hour that I would be meeting with the Serpent welcoming committee, to officially declare myself a member of the South Side community.

I was surprised at how nervous I was, to finally step over the line into unknown territory. The Serpents and I had always lived closely to each other, never fully quite interacting. When I worked at the drive in, my father and his friends would often watch out for me, should some of the local kids get too brave and start something. But to me, they were just entities in the background. To actually, fully embrace them as my own extended family was strange and uncertain.

I'd decided not to tell my Dad about my impending Serpent membership. It was a life that he never wanted me to be a part of - constantly telling me that I was destined for bigger and greater things, than hanging out at a bar every night and taking cash-in-hand jobs. It hurt to think of the disappointed look on his face when he would find out eventually. More than anything, I wished we could have a private conversation in the trailer, in which I could sit him down and tell him absolutely everything that was going on and get his advice on how to approach this. Like a normal father, instilling wisdom into his son.

I didn't dare mention my plans, during my visits. No doubt, the conversation would be picked up via the cameras and microphones and I would be hauled in for questioning on intent to conspire with the enemy.

I'd taken my father for granted, constantly ignoring him for weaknesses that he obviously needed help and support with. My mother did the same and cast him away like nothingness, snapping up her daughter with her. Now, it was too late. I needed him and it hurt like hell.

"I'm telling you Daniel, if your grades don't improve this semester – you can say goodbye to taking the car out." Mrs Matthews stomped into the kitchen with her argumentative son in tow, abruptly bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Jeez Mom, don't you think you're overreacting a bit? It's just one class! Just chill." Daniel protested, mouth hanging open. He leaned against the fridge, frowning.

Mrs. Matthews turned on her heel and scowled at him. "Just _chill?_ Did you hear that Jughead? My own son just told me to _chill_?" She turned to me and laughed mirthlessly.

Daniel flapped his arms. "Come on dude, help me out here." He pleaded. 

I smiled crookedly. "Sorry man, I'm ahead in all my classes. You're on your own." I neglected to mention that I honestly couldn't care any less about his mediocre problems, compared to my own. Everything was just _noise_.

Daniel huffed, deflating under the glare of his mother. "That's no surprise, your North Side girlfriend is a straight A student. No way would a Cooper be dating someone achieving any less." He mumbled.

"The Coopers aren't like that," I defended. "They're notorious and focussed. Betty and I aren't dating, based on my grades. She likes me for who I am." No matter how much his comment bothered me, I couldn't help but smile smugly, knowing with confidence that she would whole-heartedly agree with my statement – immensely proud of my trust in her love for me.

Daniel whistled. "Keep her. You're an inspiration for South Side slummers everywhere," he glanced at his mother defiantlly. "One day, I'll bring the Blossom girl home to announce my marriage to her. Then you'll be sorry for nagging me."

His mother snorted, raising her eyebrows. "Son, the day you bring home Cheryl Blossom – I'll _die_ of shock."

"I better get going with wooing her over then," Daniel winked. "I'm going out with some friends. Don't wait up. Seeya later, Jughead." Desperate to escape before she began to argue about his grades again, he grabbed his bag and scuttled out quickly.

Mrs Matthews sighed dramatically and poured herself a mug of hot coffee from the jug. She turned to me. "I actually went to school with a Cooper. I think her name was… Alison? Alicia?" 

"Alice," I corrected. "Alice is Betty's Mom." 

"Alice," she amended. "Alice and I were never good friends but we had a few classes together." She sipped her coffee and glanced at her watch.

"Yeah, she mentioned that she was to school on the South Side, before she moved to the North and met her husband – Hal." 

The woman before me smirked slightly and leaned against the counter. "Alice was always a bit of a stick in the mud. After joining the Serpents, she became bored and disillusioned with life here, thinking that she was destined for something better. She broke off whatever she had with FP – your father. Decided it was time to pack her bags overnight and was gone by morning. From what I heard, she didn't get with Hal until a year later." 

"I thought it was straight after, from what she told me." I gazed back into my mug and cast my mind back to New Year's Eve and our awkward conversation in the town gardens, as we wandered through the fairy lights. I had thought about telling Betty about her mother's dark roots and past – but thought better of it when I realised just how venomous Alice could be, if she wanted to. No doubt, she would tell her eventually in her own time. It wasn't my place to drop that bombshell.

Mrs Matthews nursed her cup of liquid enthusiasm, enthralled by the gossip. "Someone told me that she ran straight into the arms of the Andrews boy." She rolled her eyes at the sheer scandal of it all.

Immediately at the word 'Andrews', I thought of Archie and his lopsided grin. But this was thirty years ago and the red headed menace hadn't even been born yet. As the truth slowly dawned on me, my mouth hung open in shock. Could she possibly mean _Fred?_

"Fred?" I pressed. "He's the only one I can think of, unless he has a secret brother." In all honesty, it was the kind of secret that I expected Riverdale to hide. Sordid and dark.

"I don't know, maybe. Soon after she got with Hal, she fell pregnant and got married. Bought a big house. Alice got everything she ever wanted." She sighed in envy, eyes moving around the tiny cluttered kitchen.

"Fred was my best friend's Dad. He helped me out more time than I can even count. He was one of the few decent parents in this town." I muttered bitterly.

Smiling inwardly, I suddenly remembered an old memory of Fred teaching me how to ride Archie's new bike, with his son calling encouragingly at his heels.

He was a good teacher, patient. But we were unruly seven-year olds, who were more excited about having dinner at Pop's after our failed lesson. Fred decided to call it quits that day and drove us straight over to the diner for celebratory burgers – promising that we would revisit the exercise another time. Sure enough to his word, we were shooting around confidently on adult bikes, by the end of the year.

Sensing the shift in mood, Mrs Matthews smiled. "They live on, Jughead. They watch over us." Her eyes glazed over, no doubt thinking of her late husband after his battle with cancer.

I nodded, gulping the rest of my coffee down my suddenly dry throat and excused myself from the room. Slipping into my fur-lined jacket that was heavily scented with Betty's perfume, I left the house and started walking slowly down the street.

I was reeling from the foreign image of a teenage Fred and Alice, holding hands and kissing, imagining their whole lives together. The image seemed so wrong, as did the thought of Alice moving straight from my father – right over to Archie's. In the space of a week, I knew way more about Betty's Mom than she did. It was strange.

Morning frost clung to the grass like tiny little icicles, which crunched under my boots as I waded down the shortcut through the park.

The walk to the Whyte Wyrm was short, but walking slowly gave me time to clear my head of all the extra information I'd attained recently – and concentrate on getting through the day. I had no idea what the initiation would involve or if I would be tested in some way.

As I turned the corner at the end of the street, I could see two or three members milling around in their dark jackets through the fog. In the background, the bar stood silently against the gray sky, not a single movement from inside on a Sunday morning. They were waiting for me. On my slow approach, they caught sight of me and wandered across the parking lot to meet me halfway.

The tallest Serpent was the one to outstretch his hand first. I took it and shook it firmly. I recognised him instantly as the man who'd initially brought the jacket to me. He was an old friend of my father's. His beard had grown slightly longer since we last met and wad adorned with a speckling of grey hairs, matching his shoulder length hair. His dark eyes met mine.

"Rex," he introduced himself gruffly and indicated towards the tanned, muscled woman and the skinny male either side of him. "These guys here are Stigma and Cayden." Both Serpents stared long and hard at me as they looked me up and down with slight suspicion and indignation. I forced myself not to show weakness and trained my eyes on Rex. 

"Who was the guy who I spoke to about joining up? He said he would be here as well." 

"That was Dust," Rex cracked a hard smile underneath his mass of hair, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag. "He's a Serpent Veteran. Been here quite a few years. He asked us to come along and take you through the initiation today. Are you ready, boy?"

"I'm ready," I nodded. "So, who's in charge now, since my Dad is incapacitated?" I glanced from each face to the next as they shared a look between themselves.

"Truth is, kid," Rex turned back to me. "We're lacking in the direction department at the moment, so you couldn't have joined at a more screwed up time."

Stigma let out a sharp laugh and muttered something in a heavy south American accent. I noticed the deep set of her eyes underneath the brunette, shortly cropped hair and the way she glanced around the fog, as if looking for someone. Cayden scowled at her words and opted to keep his mouth shut.

Rex smile grimly. "Let's just say kid, you need us and we need you." 

"We don't need, no one," Stigma interjected. "You'll inflate the kid's head. Just because he's a Jones, doesn't mean he'll be of any use." She folded her chiselled arms and pointedly looked me up and down, making her disapproval completely clear.

"I guess we'll have to see." I said between gritted teeth.

"We will." She confirmed.

Rex inhaled slowly. "Don't mind her, we're under a lot of slack lately. Since the shooting at the Diner. Cops are coming down on us heavily." His eyebrows furrowed worriedly under his large amount of facial hair. I noticed all three Serpent's shared the same look underneath their tough exterior; they were worried. For whatever reason, I wasn't sure.

At the mention of the Diner shooting, my jaw hardened. I briefly wondered if they had anything to do with it, or knew of anyone who did. It took every ounce of self-restraint I had, to not start asking difficult questions.

"We should go.," Cayden announced. "Cops will do another patrol in a minute." 

"Yeah," Rex agreed. "Jones – you're about to enter a dangerous world that's about to explode. Are you ready for this? We don't take no half measures." Placing his hands on his waist, he gazed at me, gaging for any signs of hesitance.

Swallowing my apprehension, I locked gazes with him and muttered; "Yes." Betty's innocent face floated through my mind's eye and it was easy to make the decision. I would protect her no matter what, from the invisible demons that were currently plaguing the town.

Satisfied with my response, the Serpents began to move towards a dark alleyway down the side of the silent bar with me in tow.

As we walked, my new comrades made an extra effort to ensure that we were not being followed with Stigma and Cayden taking the lead. I allowed myself to hang back slightly to walk side by side with Rex, who seemed the most approachable of the bunch. Even he, seemed preoccupied with glaring around into the fog.

"What do the Serpents have to be worried about?" I muttered. "Surely you guys run these parts?" 

"Normally. But it's not safe to talk about it out in the open. Let alone with a rookie who has only just joined the team," he glanced at me suspiciously. "We're normally pickier about who we let join the family – you're way too young for a start. But we need more allies and you're FP's son." 

"That's why you brought me the jacket?" 

He nodded. "FP asked me to protect you. He knew potentially he'd go down for aiding in the murder of the Blossom kid. Honestly, I'm surprised you actually took us up on the offer. FP didn't want you in this life, initially." 

"He's going to be so pissed, when he finds out." I muttered.

Rex chuckled. "Probably. But he's sitting in a cell and you're out here, making your own decisions. I'm pretty sure you're smart enough not to get mixed up in anything like that." 

I nodded, fists clenching. I took a deep breath, knowing better than to start openly trying to discuss Fred's murder and try to discern what information Rex might know. I needed to play my part well and earn their trust first. As Rex confirmed; I was a rookie. I was nothing to them.

We continued on walking in silence as I possibly tried to imagine what could possibly be worrying the Serpents into watching their movements. As they mentioned; the police were watching their every move closer than usual. But surely Keller and his deputies wouldn't hold that much power over them?

Coming to a halt, I found myself staring up at an old shop. Cayden stepped forward and rapped his knuckles quietly on the boarded-up door, three times. He glanced around and rubbed his shaved head anxiously. I noticed the tattoo of a small scorpion on the back of his skull.

At once, the door swung open to reveal a grizzled, middle aged man. His eyes moved from face to face, before landing on mine. "Well, Jesus." He muttered.

"Jughead Jones, meet Ty. The official tattooist for the South Side Serpents," Rex smiled. "Are you ready for your initiation, boy?" 

With a bone-shattering realisation, the initiation finally came to light: I was going to get a Serpent tattoo to pledge my allegiance.

Why hadn't I realised this before? Of course, it made sense. I was being tested. A tattoo on my forearm would be difficult to hide from people and would be my visual confirmation of my loyalty. Getting the tattoo, would be announcing publicly to the rest of Riverdale that I had travelled over to the dark side. It would put a target on my back for the police to no longer trust anything I had to say. For me to be labelled as a criminal, just like the rest of them.

Could I do this?

"Let's do it, Ty." I said more calmly than I felt inside and walked past him into the darkened shop. Thankfully, my voice didn't betray the inner battle that was raging inside me. Every molecule of my being, begged for me to turn on my heels and get out of there. Forcing these feelings down, I shut them off completely and walked over to the chair in the middle of the room. There was a dimly lit lamp, hovering over the tray of medical needles.

"This is your initiation, Jughead," Rex hovered next to the chair and gestured for me to take a seat. "There's no going back after this, but you'll be part of the family and we will protect you and those you love." He pointedly looked at Cayden and Stigma.

"Bond brother." They said unanimously.

Swallowing my apprehension, I lowered myself into the chair and held out my right arm for the tattooist to place carefully on the metal stand, attached to the frame.

"Keep still," Ty grinned. "I haven't nicked anyone this week and don't want to ruin my perfect record." Two of his canine teeth were silver in colour and incredibly shiny.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I quipped, careful not to let my nervousness show. I was mildly concerned at how I would even be able to hide it from everyone. I'd spent so long concealing myself from the world, that I was tired. I didn't want to hide anymore.

Now, it looked as if I wouldn't have a choice.

Pasting a blank look on my face, my fellow Serpents clapped my back in support as the needle began to vibrate against my skin and dark shapes began to appear. My vision blurred dramatically. I had to remind myself that my fear of needles ended years ago, when Mom has promised to stop using them as soon as Jellybean was born. As a naive seven-year-old, I believed her. After which, I was treated to seeing my parent's marriage fall spectacularly apart.

My skin prickled unpleasantly, but it was bearable. I could barely feel the pain in contrast to the pain I was feeling inside, that I was crazy enough to go through with this. I believed Betty would stay with me no matter what, but how would she react when I showed up with my new ink? It was a pretty serious confirmation that we would need to be more careful about our relationship if she wanted to keep her integrity.

 _Serpent slut_. Someone had pasted on her locker in pig's blood last year, for being the only one to stand up for my father and my family. I shivered, wondering how they would react when they learned that she was sleeping with one.

How would Archie react, when he would find out that I was joining the enemy?

Ty worked quickly, well versed in the exact design and thickness of the intricate details, that he'd done a million times before. My arm really started to ache and throb, but I locked it into place and closed my eyes, visualising Betty's face to keep me calm.

He removed the needle eventually and wiped down the skin with a damp cloth. Sliding back in his chair, he admired his work.

"All done," he announced and slid of the rubber gloves into the nearby bin. "You're officially off to the ball, Cinderella." 

Releasing the long breath I'd been holding, I glanced down at the raw forearm to find a snake's head staring back at me. It protruded out of a box, covered in vines and thorns. The long slick body wound around my lower arm, scales glistening. It was a beautifully complicated design and at any other time, I would have appreciated – if not literally just been tattooed onto me.

Rex looked slightly relieved, he glanced across at Cayden and Stigma before clapping me around the shoulders. "Welcome, brother. You're officially part of the crew." He beamed like a proud father, looking at his new born son for the first time. Even Cayden broke into weird half smile. Stigma continued to look bored.

Ty stepped forwards to wrap my throbbing forearm up, after carefully applying cream over the raw skin. "It'll hurt for a few days kid, but I'm sure you'll take it like a big boy." He smacked it lightly to prove his point. I winced.

"Thanks man, it looks great." I gently tugged down the sleeve of my fleeced denim jacket, my arm feeling a lot heavier. I didn't even want to think about the trouble it was going to cause me, but I didn't care. I passed the test. I was in. I could now finally start to piece together the investigation and see what the Serpents knew.

Rex suggested that we headed back to the Whyte Wyrm for celebratory drinks as per tradition and to add my name to the official roster. I agreed and followed my new comrades back through the misty roads, tracing our earlier footsteps.

The walk back was a lot lighter somehow and I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Cayden, Rex and Stigma were more open to engagement with me, now confident they could trust me with basic information. As I suspected, they were presently wary with dealing with the police. With the Diner Killer still on the loose and no leads to the perpetrator – the police were leaning heavily down on petty crime and trying to pin as many leads on the Serpents as possible.

"It's difficult," Rex's brow furrowed. "We live on the edge of society and take what jobs we can. Sometimes the lines between legal and illegal are blurred, but we aren't murderers." 

"Mustang killed whatever respect we had," Stigma hissed and spat on the floor. "He was the beginning of the end." 

"Clifford Blossom was a cancer to many people." I mused, staring at my boots as I walked.

Rex shuffled beside me and cleared his throat. "FP was a good mediator and always kept the lines of communications open with the cops. Then the Blossom bastard intervenes and now look where we are." He gestured around to the dirty alley we were currently situated in. The path overflowed with damp boxes of old forgotten items and old furniture. I caught sight of an old bedraggled cat, perched on the fence above us, an old fish carcass in its mouth.

"FP was planning something," Rex continued and stopped walking to face me, a serious look in his eye. "He kept mentioning about how we wouldn't have to live in squalor for very long and that our days of living at the bottom of the barrel were numbered." 

Cayden snorted. "Maybe the old man was planning to take over Riverdale or something? Come on Rex, he was just trying to motivate us to stay focussed." 

"FP wasn't a liar," Stigma said firmly, casting a glance at me. "If he said he was planning something; then he had something in mind."

"I could ask him?" I ventured. There would be no possible way that Sheriff Keller would allow the Serpents to visit their old leader, but I wasn't anything more than his lost, teenage son in their eyes. In truth, I dreaded how the conversation would go. Undoubtedly, he would be furious that I'd fallen into the world that he tried so hard to keep me away from.

"You could try," Rex allowed. "Although you need to be low key. You're in the middle of a power struggle at the minute son. Every goddam Veteran Serpent is gunning for top position and in their eyes – you're competition." 

I snorted. "Because of my father?"

"Bang on," Cayden smirked. "But _we_ , have no interest in getting involved. We don't want to see your skinny ass dead." He clenched his knuckles and flexed his bicep muscles, they strained against the black material of his tank top.

I looked between all three of my companions, wondering how exactly I'd now come to be a part of a serious internal power struggle. They regarded me carefully, looking for signs of weakness. Pasting on my best poke face, I folded my arms, determined not to falter.

"That's why you three came to initiate me today?" I said quietly. "You want something from me." 

Rex laughed quietly, his greying beard shaking. "You learn quick, kid. As I mentioned earlier, the snake who initiated you, was Dust. He's pretty dangerous for the gang overall and has some pretty extreme ideas on how he wants to move the Serpents forwards, when he's leader."

"If," Stigma scowled. "The old man has to get as much backing as possible first."

"Precisely," Rex agreed. "But we need to stop that from happening. Without FP here, we're rudderless, like children. We need a leader, who will support his ideology…" He trailed off and faced me.

"Me?" I choked, incredulous. "I'm no leader." I honestly thought it was his idea of a terrible joke – messing with the new rookie. Cayden and Stigma glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, but neither of them stepped forward to tell him how crazy he sounded. 

"Not yet," he grinned. "But we've been watching you for a long time. You've got potential, kid."

"I haven't even left school yet! You even said it yourself – I'm the youngest initiate you've had. I'm no way qualified, to run a gang-…"

"-… Not _yet_ ," he interrupted. "But we expect good things from you, Jughead Jones." His words had a finality to them that suggested I wouldn't be able to argue my way out of this. Even Cayden and Stigma accepted the final resolution and nodded silently in agreement.

"But," he continued and glanced around at the rest of us. "This conversation doesn't go any further than who's here now, alright?" He raised his finger.

"I'll think about it," I said quickly. "But I want something in return."

"The rookie is making demands now?" Stigma smirked.

I paused, weighing up the pros and cons of the impending conversation in my head. I was about to take a huge risk with a bunch of Serpents I had only just met and had no idea I could even trust. As much as I tried to talk myself out the situation, I couldn't stop my gut feeling that told me it was going to be okay. They had already segregated themselves from the rest of the gang and outwardly told me that they had a plan to overthrow the next possible leader. Somehow, I was confident they could take my news.

"Last year," I said quietly and locked eye contact with all three of them in turn. "It was my friend's father, who was murdered in Pop's Diner. Now you've told me that the cops are trying to pin it on the Serpents – but I already knew better than that. It looked more like a professional hit, rather than petty theft. I'm trying to track down the killer myself." 

Rex gave a low whistle and folded his arms, shuffling from side to side. "That's a dark path, kid." 

"My best friend is in trouble," I threw my arms up. "I owe him this. I'm trying to get a lead, but this guy has literally left nothing to go on. Which is why, I assume, Sheriff Keller is leaning on the snakes to see if they'll trip up." 

Rex mused this for a few moments and paced around the darkened alley, hands on his hips. He outstretched his arm to tickle the stray cat under the chin.

"I can see you're pretty desperate, son," he said finally. "And FP is a good friend. So, I'll do you a deal – you help us to get rid of Dust and his followers and we'll groom you for leadership… And in return, we'll help you find this guy." He glanced to his companions for confirmation and they both nodded in agreement. 

"I'll get my ear to the ground," Stigma murmured, her strong south American accent catching. "But do me a favour and don't let us down, Jughead Jones." She stepped forwards and placed her hands on her leather-clad hips, squaring up to me eye to eye. An inch away from my face, she was terrifying. I could see her sharp brown eyes underneath her lightly made up face, goading me to dare to defy her.

"I'll keep my word." I promised finally, gazing around at my new family. Satisfied, they visibly relaxed and I suddenly felt as I was part of a very private club.

Rex beamed. "Alright Jones – let's get started, shall we?" 


	10. 10 - Betty

**Chp. 10 – Betty.**

"Wow." Was the only word I could possibly form. Absent-mindedly cupping my hot chocolate, I let the magnitude of Jughead's words settle inside me, trying to form a coherent explanation of it all. It could see that he watched me closely, a little crease of worry formed in-between his eyebrows as the silence stretched on between us. My eyes couldn't help but linger on the few lines of tattoo, visible under the collar of his sleeve. He kept tugging the thing down, glancing around that no one was suspicious of him.

Nodding slowly, I leaned back inside the corner booth we were seated at. It was a commercial coffee shop chain, but pretty empty for this time of night. I was due to meet Kevin here tomorrow to review the place and suss out the atmosphere. But then Jughead called and I suddenly needed somewhere discreet, where we wouldn't be seen.

I could feel the stress emanating from him in waves as he waited patiently for my response, after dropping a huge bombshell on me. It was strange. I'd always been brought up to believe that anyone who wore the same mark on his arm, was immediately a terrible person. But I was older, no longer naive and weak, most importantly – I was free to make my own decisions.

FP was a good person, beneath his tough exterior. He cared about his friends and family. So much so, he bravely faced decades in prison to save his only son from the same fate, Clifford Blossom dealt to his own. FP started the Serpents in the first place as means of brotherhood and belonging, and built it from the ground upwards. Regardless of the mark he proudly wore, it didn't change his priorities or his morals.

"This doesn't change anything, if that's what you're worried about." I said finally.

At once, he relaxed in his seat, running a hand through his beanie-less hair, as it lay forgotten in front of us. The worry etched on his face turned into relief and I couldn't help but smile. It was easy to deduce, he'd been worrying about this conversation for days.

I extended my hands across the table and stroked his fingers softly, illuminated from the soft pink glow of the wall sconces.

"You've got a mean poker face, Betts." He breathed outwards and took a gulp of coffee.

"Alice Cooper is my mother. Without a good poker face, I wouldn't survive," I reminded him. "Which is why you need to let me help you investigate. Archie's special to both of us."

He sighed, exasperated and melted backwards into the booth. "We've been over this, Betty. If Archie knew what we were doing, even he'd agree it's way too dangerous for you… Did you warn Veronica?"

"Yes, she gets the picture." I muttered.

"Good," he approved and lightly touched his forearm under the fleece jacket, wincing slightly. "It's best not to tell anyone about me right now, or about the Serpents. I want this to stay quiet for as long as possible until I can figure out what to do next." The corners of his eyes crinkled with the unspoken stress of a few sleepless nights.

I was totally powerless, unable to help alleviate his burden. _I_ was also his burden. 

"Well, you could have just said _no_." I joked weakly. 

"Had to make it believable," he shrugged. "I'll be careful."

"Juggie," I whispered into my cup, eyes moving down to the table. "Are you really going to become the leader of the Serpents?" It was a question I almost didn't want to ask, but the words had already tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I could see his expression darken – he was scared I would ask him outright.

There was a heavily pregnant silence as he kept his thoughts to himself. Eventually, he shook his head. "I don't want to be." 

"I just hope that one day, Archie appreciates all of this. What you've sacrificed for him." 

He swallowed his mouth of coffee and brushed my fingers lightly with his own. "Archie and Fred were there for me, during some of the worst times of my life. I've never told anyone this Betty, but there's a side of me that I struggle to keep down, too." Ashamed, he blushed and nibbled on his fingernails, becoming engrossed on the skin around his thumb.

I frowned, recalling FP's works to Archie; _Jughead has some darkness in him._ I guess I always knew, deep down that he struggled with life in general, only really coming out of his shell the past year and really showing me who he really was. Before then, it was difficult to think back of a memory where he _actually_ smiled.

The boy sat in front of me, was still that sad little, lonely child that used to hang around the comic book shop on his own after school and boycott all birthday parties. Deep down, he carried just as many scars as I did.

Taking both of his hands gently into mine, I locked gazes with him. "That's why you aren't bothered about my dark side, isn't it? You deal with your own." It was like a light had just clicked on, inside my head. Jughead was so ready to accept every part of me, without questions, without judgement. It was what he wanted more than anything else; to be accepted and loved for who he was.

Seeing the resolution on my face, he nodded sheepishly. "You got it, Betts."

The corner of my eyes were suddenly moist. He leaned up to wipe the tears away with the sleeve of his jacket. I hated to think of him all alone. It broke me inside.

"I uh," he paused, searching for the right words. "I fell into a really dark place when I was fourteen. Mom was on drugs, Dad couldn't bear to watch her destroy herself so he was always out with the gang. Man, he was really bad at the whole supportive thing. Jellybean went through a period where she barely slept for a few years and had night terrors when she was too exhausted to stay awake. Basically, everyone was falling apart and it was down to me, to try and keep the family going," he inhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Looking back, I was suffering a lot more than I thought I was. One day, it got too much and I began thinking some really dark thoughts… What life would be like if I wasn't around anymore…" Trailing off, he cleared his throat and gazed around the small coffee shop – now empty with closing time nearing.

I stayed silent, heart hammering slowly and loudly inside my chest. Jughead's face scrunched up slightly.

"About a month later," he continued. "I started cutting myself to feel something – _anything._ It gradually got worse and I started doing it deeper, so it'd bleed longer. What scared me most, was just how _good_ it felt. How it was the first time I felt so… In control of everything. In that moment, I was in charge of my own destiny for once." He sniffed, roughly wiping his sleeve under his nose.

"Juggie, I had no idea…" I whispered between a waterfall of silent tears. He shone a quick fake smile and nodded.

"No one did. I didn't tell anyone. One day, the football team were giving me a hard time and with everything going on at home, I decided that I just wanted to end it, there and then. I left school as usual that day and ended up taking a walk by Sweetwater River. There's a bridge up near the East side that used to be a hangout of mine. I walked up the hill and sat on top of the bridge, legs dangling over the edge. I remember feeling nervous and realising just how far a drop it was," he traced the rim of his cup with a forefinger, backwards and forwards in anxiety. "Before I got the courage to do it, Fred Andrews walked over the bridge with Vegas – saw me sitting over the edge and put two and two together." His voice broke and he sniffed. When he glanced upwards, his eyes were glistening.

"Fred stopped you?" I whispered.

Jughead nodded wordlessly, getting himself together. "It was totally the worst moment of my life and then my best friend's father appears and it was all too much. He didn't shout or yell. He sat down next to me and we talked for a couple of hours. By the time it was nightfall, he made me realise that this dark period wouldn't last forever. He told me to come by the house if I ever needed an escape, or someone to talk to." 

"And that's when you started hanging out with Archie a lot more?"

He smiled. "Yeah. I don't think Fred ever told Arch what I almost did. But when my mom and Jellybean left and I lived in the school for a little while – Fred came to my aid again, offering me to stay with them."

I nodded slowly. The past few months suddenly all made much more sense in the space of just a few minutes, and why Jughead was so determined and focussed on finding the killer and bringing him to justice.

"I owe Fred and Archie," he said confidently, all traces of sadness and misted eyes now gone. "They both got me through up until this point. Now, it's my time to pay them back for what they did for me. First, I'll avenge Fred and find this guy, then I'll support Archie – no matter what."

Before he could open his mouth to say anything else, I closed the gap between us and caught his lips in mine. At once, his responded and deepened the kiss – to which I happily obliged. Our fingers found each other across the table once again and automatically interlaced, drawn together by some unknown force.

I loved Jughead Jones, more than words could ever say. Tattoo be damned, I was going to stay with the boy of my dreams and continue to love him fiercely and stand by his side, no matter what. He'd been through too much and I also had my scars. But we were _so_ right for each other. We made the other, whole.

And that was what love really was.

"Betty?"

Brought out of my thoughts, I stared around at the sea of faces gathered around the lunch table, all peering at me anxiously. Reggie waved a hand in front of my face, looking uneasy.

"Betts?" He muttered. "You okay?

 _Don't call me that_ , I almost said aloud. _Only he calls me that._

"I'm fine." I said automatically and smiled around at my friends. I resume prodding the cold lump of spaghetti on my plate, pushing it around absent-mindedly. I could see Veronica and Cheryl exchange looks with Kevin and Reggie.

Fine, was a long haul – but it was all I had. My boyfriend was currently in a school lunch hall across town, adorned with a new tattoo that all of the South Side kids probably admired. He would no doubt, be both respected and feared by his peers. But I couldn't stop thinking about his suicide revelation, knowing with all certainly that there would be no way I'd be able to talk him into coming to his senses. Not after what he felt for Fred Andrews.

"B, you aren't hungry?" Veronica said gently.

Before I had a chance to answer, a dark shadow loomed across the table with a sullen-looking Archie Andrews staring back at the group. He moved around everyone's faces – I glanced down at the orange plate and ignored him.

"Any room?" He muttered, slightly hopeful. There was a slight tinge of alcohol in the air, but nowhere near as bad as it was before. His thick, red hair even looked as if he'd bothered to drag a comb through it that morning.

Veronica scowled instantly and arose to her feet. "I've lost my appetite." She announced and grabbed her tray and chemistry books. Kevin grabbed his duplicate copies and hurried after her with an awkward smile.

"You can have my seat buddy, I'm off to see the Coach anyway." Reggie said warmly and clapped him on the shoulders. As he passed me, I caught the slight whisper of 'Good luck' shot in my direction.

"Well," Cheryl smiled, her red lips stretching wide. "My, isn't this a surprise? Sit down, Archiekins." She shuffled further up the bench and he gratefully sank down opposite me. My eyes were firmly glued to the spaghetti catastrophe. I was done with trying to bring Archie Andrews back from oblivion.

"How are you doing, Betty?" Archie muttered quietly. I could feel his eyes on my face as I determinedly didn't meet them.

"Great." I hissed.

Cheryl rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't mind her, she's such a glum Gus today!" She kicked me lightly under the table with a well-aimed boot. Wincing, I shot her a glare.

"Cheryl – do you mind giving us a minute?" Archie asked, throwing me into surprise. Cheryl's perfectly tinted eyebrows, rose as she was dismissed. In her new-found self, she opted not to argue. Quietly, she smiled and gathered her things and left.

"What do you want, Archie? Round two?" I shot as soon as she was out of earshot, plunging us into alone-ness.

Taken aback by my abrasiveness, he glanced down at the lunch table. It was very apparent that curious stares were being thrown our way from curious bystanders, itching to see another verbal battle. His cheeks were tinted a slight shade of red, he was embarrassed.

"Don't worry, I'll make this quick… I just, wanted to say that I'm sorry," he grunted. "I was being an asshole and you were only trying to look out for me – just the same as the others. I literally had no right to treat you like that."

"No," I agreed. "And you were a jerk."

"That too… I'm just going through a hard time, okay?" He fell silent, fingers dancing on the table. He threw a self-conscious look over his shoulders to where a group of freshman were gazing in our direction. At once, I recognised the group that asked me if Archie carried a gun. As soon as they caught us staring back, they resumed their conversation in hushed tones.

I sighed. "I was expecting more grovelling, but it's a start I suppose." 

He grinned. "Plenty more grovelling coming your way, I promise. I just don't want to lose our friendship. We've known each other since we were kids." 

"You were a jerk back then too. You pulled the heads off my dolls-…" 

"-… And glued them back on again, as soon as I realised you were upset," he finished. "For your sixth birthday, I got my mom to take me to the toy store and buy you a new one to make up for it."

"Then you'll recall, I also promised I would never let you forget it? Yes, this is one of those moments." 

He smirked. "We also said we were going to get married at 18, but look where we are now." 

I rolled my eyes. "That was a million years ago. Are you going to enlighten me as to why you've suddenly decided to talk now? Stop stalling." I caught him off guard and he closed his mouth in surprise. Swallowing, he played with his fingers absentmindedly.

"You could say, I'm at an impasse," he muttered. "I'm totally lost right now and in truth, I _need_ friends to trust that I'm not going crazy. Betty, I think either Hiram or the Serpents _definitely_ had something to do with my father's death." Looking over his shoulder once again to check we weren't being heard, he leaned forwards on his arms and stared at me seriously.

"Arch, you don't have proof of that," I was uneasy. "You can't just go around and make assumptions. You'll really hurt Ronnie or Juggie."

"I know," holding up his hand, he nodded. "Betty, to tell you the truth – I'm digging for clues, so I have a basis to go to Sheriff Keller with." He looked so confident with himself, happy to be focussing his energy into something that wasn't binging on alcohol and self-destruction. I couldn't tell him what I knew. It would only worsen his fears.

"You need to let this go," I begged and leaned forwards, whispering. "You're going to get yourself in serious trouble." 

"Only if I get caught," he teased. "I'm doing a lot more for my father than anyone else in this town, so I'd like to see Keller charge me with anything."

"Does he _need_ to be charging you with anything, Archie? That's the real question."

"Not yet." 

"You're making me nervous, Archie." I sighed and arose to my feet, dragging the tray of uneaten spaghetti with me and dumping it in the nearest bin. Archie followed close behind at my heels as we wandered down the hallway. His sudden animated-ness was a sure surprise in weeks of darkness, but there was a cold ball of dread in my stomach.

He stopped in front of me, forcing me to pause in my tracks. "I will find out what really happened, Betty. And then I'll be a better friend, okay? I swear, I'll make it up to you when I've avenged my Dad." 

"You can start by not endangering yourself." I muttered, veering past him down towards the Blue and Gold office, and guaranteed silence.

The threads of my life were all unravelling one by one as yet another special person in my life, was thrown into uncertainty and danger. Tossing my bag down at my desk, I sank into Jug's old armchair in the corner and my head sank into my hands, wondering what was going to implode on me next.

The smell of the old upholstery really made me miss Jughead. I craved for him to be sitting next to me, shaking his head and insisting that I was a lot stronger than I felt inside. I needed to hear his words, his fingers through my hair and fingers.

"I can deal with this," I whispered into my palms. "It will all work out." Using a calming technique that he taught me months ago, I managed to get my breathing under control and halt the impending panic attack. Allowing myself to lean back into the seat, I closed my eyes and imagined we were sitting together, talking about silly topics like we'd been best friends all our lives.

It wasn't long before I stepped gratefully out of the double doors of the school, to find Jughead Jones himself, waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. Feeling a huge smile creep across my lips, I bounded down and threw myself into his arms.

"Woah," he grinned, spinning me round. "Hello to you too, Betts." He straightened his beanie, ignoring the curious glances being thrown in our direction by hungry freshman. It wasn't hard to work out why – it was a fairly warm day for Spring, so he'd decided to ditch the jacket for the afternoon and wear his grey t-shirt, which strained against his lightly muscled arms. His chest was a little bit broader, no doubt from spending most of his spare time with the Serpents when he wasn't at school.

"I missed you." I murmured shyly and pressed my lips lightly against his.

"Tell me about it," he smiled and set me down. "At least you know everyone in this school!" 

"You have friends too!"

He raised his eyebrows. "As I mentioned to you previously, my _friends_ consist of both you and Arc-…" He paused, not sure whether to still proclaim the red headed menace as his token best friend. He dropped it and continued. "My social _acquaintances_ at my new school are either with me because they're scared of my father and my affiliation with the gang, or because they want to stay on my good side for protection."

I frowned. "So now you're the Godfather of the South Side Serpents?" 

"Not quite," he chuckled. "I'm still finding my feet. Do you know how many codenames and phrases there are, running with the snakes?"

"Who'd have thought it?" I muttered dryly. Interlocking fingers like we'd hadn't been apart for days, we slowly began walking towards the police station as Jughead began to retell his recent goings on within the gang. Soon enough, the words died on his lips and I could feel the gaze of his eyes, burning into the side of my head.

"Betts are you okay? What's wrong?" There was no point in evading or lying, he knew me too well.

"Nothing," I smiled. "Archie just decided to try and apologise to me today. That's all."

"And that upsets you?" A crooked smile played at the corner of his lips. A curl of black hair blew out from underneath his beanie and cascaded down the side of his head. 

I shrugged. "I don't really know, Juggie. He kind of cornered me, said he was sorry and tried acting as if the past few months never happened in the first place. I know he lost his father and I couldn't ever imagine his pain… But what do I even do with that? It was like I didn't even recognise who I was speaking to, anymore." I sighed loudly, opening a flood gate of emotion that I didn't even realise I was holding back. Jughead squeezed my fingers in his own cold ones.

"Maybe he's really trying to make amends?" 

I snorted. "He's worked out finally that he's been an ass to every person who's tried offering their help to him. But we have another problem, Jug." I stopped in my tracks and tugged on the sleeve of the denim jacket tied around his waist. He stopped, looking concerned.

"What is it, Betts?"

I swallowed the slowly growing, ball of the dread in the bottom of my stomach. My mouth tasted like lead. "He's thrown all of his new-found energy into trying to connect the Serpents and Hiram into Fred's murder. He's totally convinced."

He frowned. "What does he expect to find exactly? A confession note, scribbled on the back of a bar napkin?" 

"Who knows?" I slapped the side of my legs. "But you need to be careful Jughead, if Archie _sees_ or even _hears_ about what you're up to – I really don't even want to think about it."

"He wouldn't stop and let me explain," he muttered. "Okay, I'll be extra careful." 

We began walking again in a comfortable silence, the weight of Archie dawning on the both of us like a troubled child we needed to protect. I struggled to forget the crazed, vengeful look in his eyes as he talked about the Serpents and Hiram Lodge. I didn't doubt, that he would break any law possible to found out who killed Fred Andrews.

The clouds above were beginning to streak across the sky and bring in darkened hues from the north. We reached the police station just as it was starting to spit. Jughead held the door open for me as we stepped into the quiet waiting room, governed by a small lady on the reception desk. She glanced up at the sound of the door closing and shone us a smile.

"Jughead," she greeted. "Haven't seen you in a while?"

"Been busy." He nodded by way of explanation, not wanting to elaborate any further. Sorely used to his evasive personality, she shone us one last smile before returning to her newspaper and the automatic gates, swung open in front of us.

FP Jones paced around his cell as soon as we approached the final corner to the holding unit. Hearing footsteps, he glanced up to see us both stood gingerly in front of the bars.

"Son," he greeted. "It's damn good to see you. You as well, Betty." 

"How are you doing, Mr Jones?" I leaned against the bars. He cracked a smile and shoved his hands inside the pockets of his old jeans.

"I told ya – enough of the formalities. You can call me FP. You're family now, after all." He glanced at Jughead and nodded in approval. "Plus, you keep my boy in check for me." 

"A full time job." I snorted and rubbed Jug's shoulder affectionately. He rolled his eyes and grabbed two wooden chairs from the corner of the room and slid one effortlessly towards me. Sinking into it gratefully, I tried not to draw attention to the fact that jail made me anxious.

Jughead winced as he tapped the side of his chair with his tattooed arm. Moments before arriving, he'd made sure to slip on the denim jacket and pull the sleeves down to his wrists. But it was too late, FP had already noticed the obvious discomfort.

"How's things Jug? Heard from your Mom?" His eyes stayed resting on his son's covered arm. The question was loaded.

"No," Jughead chuckled. "She and Jellybean have been virtually unreachable since you… Well, since everything happened." He hedged.

"That doesn't surprise me," FP muttered dryly. "Are you staying out of trouble? The South Side is no joke."

"Kids are kids." He shrugged in reply.

"Not what I mean, son." He moved his eyes pointedly towards Jughead's covered arm and glanced at the mounted CCTV camera on the dingy grey brickwork wall. Jughead followed his gaze, unable to find the words to string together a coherent sentence to explain his difficult situation, without alerting the police about his new-found status.

"It's not what you think, FP." I whispered.

"It better not be," he muttered, eyes flashing. "It's the one thing in this world, I never wanted for you, Forsythe." 

At the use of his given name, Jughead scowled and stiffened. "It's what I'm left with, Dad. Things are a mess out there. I'm looking for answers-…" 

"-… Some answers you aren't meant to find," FP interrupted and sighed. "Like with the Blossom kid – you need to let this go." 

"Do you know anything?" Jughead dared. He gazed silently towards his father who stared unabashed back at him. FP placed his hands on the hips of his flannel shirt and began pacing the room once more. The lack of a usable razor had caused his normally-managed stubble, to grow into the makings of a small beard. He ran his calloused fingers through the rough hairs.

"No," he answered finally. "When Fred came to see me that morning, he was spooked about something though." 

"The morning of his death?" I pressed. "Do you remember what he said?" His dark eyes flicked up to meet my own hopeful ones. He didn't want to disappoint the eager teenagers stood before him. 

FP blinked slowly, thinking. "Look – I don't wanna fuel your curiosity for something you both need to drop and leave alone. It could be dangerous." 

"Because it was a professional hit?" Jughead ventured. He glanced self-consciously again at the CCTV camera on the wall. His jawline was hard, desperate to explode with the millions of probing questions that he wanted to freely ask without the looming promise of being caught on tape.

"Jesus, Jughead – you can't go throwing around words like that." His father hissed, throwing his hands behind his head. He paced around his cell anxiously, helpless. "Look – I don't know a damn thing about why my buddy was shot – or even by who… But Fred was uncomfortable, constantly checking his phone and jumping whenever he made a noise." 

"I've never seen Fred act like that before." I mused.

FP rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I knew the guy for twenty years – give or take. That boy never backed down to anyone and always stood up for the little guy. Even when we were separated into North and South, we stayed friends." 

"Even when Alice Cooper and Fred got together, after she moved?" Jughead bristled. As soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth, my head snapped towards him loudly – echoed in the near-empty cell block. He looked instantly as if he regretted his words and stared down at the tiled floor, shaking his head in sheer disappointment of himself. I barely noticed his self-loathing attitude through the sheer magnitude of the sounds of my thrumming heart against my rib cage. Jughead had literally just insinuated that our respective parents, had dated each other historically.

FP visibly blanched at the revelation and glanced towards me and turned his eyes back onto his son, learning through the bars. "Kid – maybe it's not the best time to talk about this…" He trailed off.

"-… We're talking _now_ ," I said firmly. "So when the hell were you going to tell me this?" My fiery-eyed look caused Jughead to retreat back a couple of steps, palms held up. Even from halfway across the room, I was confident he could feel my fury.

"Betts, I'll tell you everything that I know, later. Okay?" His eyes pleaded silently, desperate to finish the mission that we came here to accomplish, before getting into anything else. As much as I wanted to pin him down and get some serious answers, I had to agree. FP Jones needed to give up what he knew, and fast.

It was painful, but I swallowed my anger like an adult – with the silent glare towards Jughead that we would revisit our conversation later and he would willingly update me on everything he knew thus far. Stepping towards FP leaning through the bars, I outstretched my hands and took his calloused larger ones, in my own. A little taken aback, he stood up straighter and locked eyes with me.

"Mr Jones," I begged. "It's really important that we find out what Fred said to you that day. We can't update you on everything – until we can make some sense of it ourselves… But Archie is struggling, Mary is at her wits' end and there is a killer on the loose, potentially cutting out the witnesses," I swallowed hard, Chic's warning still fresh in my mind like the scent of sickly, maple syrup. "We're already in danger. Juggie, is trying his best to dig for whatever information he can, but we can't do everything alone." I glanced backwards at my boyfriend, who significantly tapped his covered forearm, a semi-solemn look across his face.

FP sighed heavily, shaking his head so hard that his new-found beard; wobbled along worriedly with it. I felt bad for him. The stresses of losing his family, his freedom and now fear of Jughead's future; aged him considerably. The lines on his face were deeper, clearer cut than I was used to.

"He came to check up on me," FP muttered. "Said he was worried that I would be moved soon, or he wouldn't be able to visit for a while. He was flustered and I kept asking him if he was okay. Stubborn bastard he was, he said he was fine – just waiting for Archie to wake up, so they could go and get breakfast together," he eyebrows furrowed. "He kept checking his phone as I said before. I thought it was pretty out of character – Fred wasn't one to worry about constant communication with Archie. When I questioned it, he got a text, said he was sorry and left suddenly."

"And that's it?" Jughead sighed, exasperated. Throwing a sideways glance at me, he paced the room with his arms folded in sheer disappointment.

"It tells us something at least – Fred was concerned about something." I reasoned.

"Because Archie probably stayed out all night with Veronica and didn't check in," Jughead gestured wildly. "This is a dead end." 

"Sorry kid, not too sure what you want me to say." FP shrugged, genuinely saddened he couldn't provide anything more to the investigation. Leaning on the bars, he chewed lightly on his tongue and pressed his fingers against the coarse facial hair. The expression on his face altered slightly. He raised his eyes to meet mine.

"He mentioned your Mom, Betty."

"My Mom?" I frowned. "Why? They aren't really even friends. Although… Now I'm not sure on their relationship anymore." I couldn't help but shoot Jug a hurt look that he didn't feel the need to divulge my own mother's history to me. I briefly wondered what else he was hiding.

"He uh… Muttered something about Alice not getting back to him about something. He was frustrated. God knows what was on Fred's mind that day." He trailed off, still obviously tortured by the fact that he couldn't even attend the funeral of his old friend. 

Jughead's eyes met mine. A sense of silent urgency passed between us.

"Thank you, FP," I smiled softly. "You've been a great help."

"Anything for you, Betty," smiling back in his own gruff fashion, he leaned outwards and clapped Jughead affectionately around the side of the neck and pulled him in close. "You promise you'll look after my boy?"

"Always." I promised.

He nodded in solid approval and moved his arms around so that his son faced him through the bars of his cell. A serious look crossed his features and he was no longer in a joking mood. "Jughead – you watch your step. I can't cover your back when you get into something you can't get yourself out of." To accentuate his point, he grabbed Jughead's tattooed arm. He winced.

"I'll be fine, Dad." 

"No, you won't," FP said slowly. "It changes you – whether you like it or not. Look – my trial starts in the next month. After then, I'll be in jail to rot for however many years, they can't stand to see my face around here. You'll be the man of the house." He pressed his forehead to his sons, starting him squarely in the eyes.

"Stop it Dad, this isn't goodbye." Jug muttered, swatting him away lightly.

"Not forever," he agreed. "But for a while, soon. I'm sure Sir Keller out there, will give you the details if you wanna come and support your old Dad."

"Of course," Jug nodded. "We'll be there." He glanced back towards me for support. Judging by the lost look in his gaze, I knew instantaneously that there would be no way I would let him go alone to watch his father be taken away. 

I smiled and nodded. "Yes."

I had a tough time trying to get the look of FP's gaunt, tired face out of my mind for the next few weeks as the days blurred into bursts of intermitted colours and faces. My brain in itself was exhausted with sleepless nights and strained conversations with Jughead, as he desperately tried to fit me into his busy schedule with the Serpent's constantly commanding his attention outside of school. I was emotional but emotionless at the same time; not quite concentrating on classes or new topics that arose. I caught myself looking over my shoulder in paranoia as I travelled to and from school everyday - even Chic hadn't replied to a panicked voicemail I made in a moment of blind panic at 3am, desperate to know if he had any more news. The silence was deafening, killing me inside like an old, rotten apple.

As promised, Jughead had filled me in on my mother's previous fleeting relationship with Fred Andrews after she first moved to the North side, from the South. As a family, it was customary that we ate breakfast together every morning as a way of 'setting ourselves up for the day ahead'. As my mother, father and Polly ate together in gratuitous harmony every morning; I ate in silence, nails pinching into the palms of my flesh. I wondered what other lies or false truths, I was living in?

I had hoped after Jason's death, things in Riverdale would only _have_ to improve. Clearly, I was naive and wrong.

Stupid Betty.

"Betty?"

I glanced up to see a curious-looking Reggie staring back, seated in the stool next to me in our Biology places. Behind us, I could sense Veronica and Josie's eyes boring into our backs at the quiet exchange. At once, the sounds of the class milling around, slammed into me like a wave. I smiled encouragingly at Reggie, who'd strewn out our combined project notes before us.

"Are… You okay?" He ventured cautiously. "You're as pale as a ghost."

"I was just reading through your footnotes here," I garbled and prodded the nearest sheet of wording, with his childlike scribbles across it. "Did you realise that the Cardiovascular system is _completely_ different to the Respiratory system?"

"Of course," he nodded, grinning widely. "Or else this whole project would be completely screwed. You're making excuses." Cocking his head, he lowered his voice so that Veronica and Josie would return to their work and give up eavesdropping. Ignoring his question, I cleared my throat and began sorting out notes into an order that would actually make logical sense. Next to me, I could feel his eyes burning into my skull as he awaited an answer to his accusation.

"What do you want?" I snapped harder than intended. Not at all perturbed by my hostile tone, he smiled.

"What's up, Betty? We've been sat here for 45 minutes and you've barely contributed anything to this _masterpiece_ we're working on." He gestured to our hasty scribbles and clutched his chest his mock horror. I couldn't help but let a giggle escape my downturned mouth at the dramatics.

"She laughs!" He whispered triumphantly. "Does that mean the next step; is getting you to confess whatever has got you all riled up?" 

"You'll be lucky," I snorted. "I'm going to have to ask you to actually write in coherent sentences next time. Do you see this? Where's the punctuation?" I pushed the project plan over to him as he rolled his eyes.

"Shooting me where it hurts! My English skills!" He laughed airily, before suddenly realising the terribly timed joke he'd just made. He eyed Archie across the lab, ensuring the red headed now-apologetic-menace, hadn't caught wind of the terrible choice in wording. Satsified with his close escape, he leaned back into his stool further.

"Before you potentially offend anyone else," I began. "To confirm for your annoying curiosity – I'm fine. It's just been a tough few months." 

He nodded, surprisingly understanding. "Haven't seen Jones sulking around lately. Are you guys okay?" 

"He's busy," I tried my best to smile nonchalantly. Like a normal girlfriend, who knew her boyfriend was safe, would. It was a part I was beginning to play well and had many well-practiced phrases to utilise at a moment's notice. The truth was sore – it was now Friday afternoon and Jughead and I hadn't spoken since Tuesday morning, when he called me before he headed into school.

Slightly proud of myself, I'd resisted the urge to plague his phone with calls and texts – demanding to know if he was okay and safe, what was going down with the Serpents, etc. I trusted Jughead more than I'd ever done so, with anyone else before. He would contact me to speak properly, if he had a moment to spare.

Sitting down at our usual lunch table, it was still odd to see Archie electing to sit down with us, instead of slouching off in his own. The smile on his face was empty – but the permanent scent of alcohol on his breath, was at last gone. It was a step in the right direction.

After the initial awkwardness between him and Veronica, they again found themselves sitting side by side and joking about a television program they'd caught, the night before. Beside Archie, Reggie toyed with his chicken salad, staring in morbid curiosity at Cheryl across from him, staring in her hand-held mirror for the past 15 minutes.

"Betty – be honest with me," she moaned, tugging on my arm. "Am I getting crows feet at the corners of my eyes?" Her face fell seriously and she regarded me with such a deadpan expression, I was concerned I would burst out laughing at her.

"No crows feet here," I confirmed. "Skin as flawless as usual."

"Well, I have a very extreme skincare regime that involves no frowning or grimacing of any kind." She winked, satisfied with my answer. "Reggie – you could do with some of my cream." 

"And ruin this beauty?" He choked on a mouthful of chicken and lettuce. "Football is my secret, for staying young." He turned to Archie and exchanged an enthusiastic high five. Flanking my other side, Kevin and I locked gazes and rolled our eyes simultaneously.

Ronnie outstretched her hands, snaking around the sides of my cola and fries, grinning. "It's Friday night B, what are ya up to?"

 _Well Veronica, I was looking forward to going home to sit in my bedroom and stare at my phone, hoping my boyfriend would decide to give me a call._

"Nothing," I smiled widely. "But why do I get the feeling that you've got an idea?" 

She mustered a shocked face and winked. "Why Betty, how perceptive of you! I do indeed have an idea that you might dig. I was talking to one of the other Vixens the other day, and she happened to mention about this hot new night club – just opened up on the border," pausing for effect as the table fell silent to listen in on the conversation. After rummaging around in her designer purse, she pulled out a handful of coloured papers. "Annnnnd… I so happen to have tickets for this evening – courtesy of some _very helpful_ friends." 

"Night club?" Cheryl shrugged. "Count me in. I _cannot_ take another Friday night, stuck in the apartment with my grumpy mother." 

"Well, you _did_ burn down her whole house. Along with everything she's ever owned, in it." Kevin dared to mutter, staring incredulously around the table.

"I did her a favour." Cheryl insisted, with every ounce of confidence that she possessed.

"Count me in too." Reggie shrugged quickly, defusing the situation before it could escalate any further. After a moment of hesitation, Kevin sighed and nodded along in agreement with him as well.

Archie paused for a moment, looking as if he was seriously weighing up the pros and cons. A few moments later, he grinned and took one of the tickets from Veronica's outstretched hands. Her dark eyes moved across to me, expectant and hopeful.

"You're coming too, right B?" She looked so sincere and kind, that I struggled to find a good enough excuse that she would openly accept. I nodded slowly as a breezy smile stretched out across her delicate features, her smile landing on Archie. I didn't miss the electricity that slowly ignited between the both of them once more, threatening to once again open a door they both closed months ago.

I wanted to desperately grab Ronnie and force her attention onto me – that Archie wasn't all he seemed. That he, has his own mission to try and find _any_ evidence that would implicate her father – or the snakes, in connection with the death of his own father. I love them both like my own family and I didn't want to see either fall into the depths of despair and heart break once again.

As promised, I obediently left school and went home to have a shower, mostly to wash off the difficult week behind me in the midst of scaling hot water. Emerging from the bathroom, feeling very pink – I checked my phone to find a brief message from Jughead; _All going well, I'm earning some trust and gaining ground. I'll swing by your house this weekend and take you out for dinner – mostly to apologise for being AWOL so much. To prove my loyalty and love for you, I'll even pay and let you order as many of those horrible Kiwi milkshakes, as many as you want. That's how much I love you._

A soft smile played across my lips as I reread the message a couple of times more, before tossing the phone back onto the bed. Relief swept up inside like a breeze of warm air. My heartbeat began to slow down for the first time in days and renewed me. I was still in awe at how he could unknowingly, influence my mood with a few short words, or looks.

I was in love, and nothing could touch me.

Ronnie and Cheryl honked from the car outside, signalling that it was time for us to leave for the club. Having already straightened my hair, I pulled on a navy sequin dress and hurried downstairs to say a stiff goodbye to my parents and a wistful looking Polly – and flung myself into the awaiting car in the street.

"There's my girl," Ronnie grinned from the driver's seat. "Damn B, you look great!" I blushed a little at the compliment and brushed it off. She sported a long, black glittery dress with bright red lips and heels whilst Cheryl had elected to go for a dark purple trouser suit and had even curled her hair for the occasion. It was strange, yet wonderful to see Cheryl so comfortable around us, after hiding behind hostility for so long. As weird as it was to admit, she also had done herself a massive favour – for burning down her own gothic prison and setting herself free, like a red phoenix

Ronnie pulled out into the road and began to navigate the windy, tree lined streets of my area and into the main town. As discussed earlier in the day, she really wasn't joking when she mentioned that the club sat just beyond the border into the South Side. With a heart-stricken moment, I imagined the whole gang running into Jughead and his newly found-snake buddies on the dance floor. In the next moment, I chided myself for being so ridiculous – clubs were _definitely_ not Jughead Jones's scene, as much as they were mine. But yet, here I was.

Inside, the club heaved with heavy tones and bass that were loud enough to pressurise my ears. As Ronnie guided me towards the dancefloor, I could feel my own heartbeat move along to the thrum of the beat itself, leaving me wondering what would happen if I were to suddenly go into cardiac arrest in the middle of a rave.

Our small group scattered onto the dancefloor and to also go and get drinks from the bar. Even in the neon lights of the strobes, bouncing from the walls – I could make out the figure of Reggie expertly weaving through the crowd towards me, various drinks in hand. He said something and smiled, totally lost to the drum and bass.

I gestured and leaned forwards so he could repeat it louder; "Pick whatever you want, Betty." He held up the assortment of drinks. I gingerly decided to take a tall glass of what smelled strongly of vodka. Beside me, Kevin moved around to grab another beverage and raised his eyebrows at my choice of poison.

"Wow, cocktails Betty? We've only just arrived!" He laughed good naturedly and patted me on the back.

Leaning into his ear, I laughed and said; "I honestly have no idea. I've never been clubbing before." I silently thanked the hues of flashing lights above, for masking my embarrassment and anxiety. I was very sure that I didn't belong along amongst the scores of neon-clad dancers as they moved in time along with the music. Kevin sighed soundlessly and motioned for me to down the drink in my hand. Gingerly, I lifted the rim to my lips to keep him happy and let the burning liquid slide down my throat.

He grinned, ear to ear. "There you go! You deserve you let your hair down a bit, Betts. Especially what you're going through now." He paused, an all-knowing look crossed his face and I realised at once, he knew exactly what he was referring to. It would have made perfect sense – considering his affiliation to Joaquin and his inside knowledge. Of course, his boyfriend would let him know of Jughead's latest movements.

Seeing the stricken look cross my face, he leaned into my ear. "We've been friends forever, Betts. I won't be telling anyone, anytime soon." He held up his pinkie finger in promise and downed his own beverage in one mouthful. Whether it was the alcohol, or the sudden realisation that I had someone on the North side, that I could confide in about my current predicament – I threw my head back and giggled. The sound was swallowed up at once by the music, but I could feel the happiness stream down to the tips of my fingers and toes – outstretching my limbs as my friends and I decided that we were drunk enough, after a few more drinks – to actually start attempting to dance.

With confirmation to my mother, that I would be staying with Veronica tonight – I was free to not be held up by the early hours of the morning. Betty Cooper was letting herself go for once. With each passing moment, I felt myself slip out of my own skin and glide across the dancefloor, with my closest friends, plus Reggie and Cheryl additionally. For a few hours, I ghosted my own skin and allowed myself to flow free without rules, without worry and without normal old _Betty_.

"I'm going to the bathroom." I mouthed to Veronica just before she turned on her heels and latched onto Archie. Sensing that this would be a bad time to strike up my 'you can't trust Archie' conversation, I turned towards the direction of the ladies' room symbol and began to dodge the heaving bodies around me.

Finally breaking out into a small clearing, devoid of people – I managed to lightly collide with a man holding a beer can, leaning against the wall next to the ladies' bathroom. At once, I gabbled an apology and double checked that nothing had spilled out of the can and landed on either of us.

He held up his hand, laden with various rings and tattoos. "It's okay, no harm done." He took another long drag of his beer and nodded in approval that my mistake was fine. As his jacket shifted up his arm, I could make out old ink lines of the same intricate snake tattoo, that now adorned Jughead's forearm. My eyes moved automatically to his leather jacket – where I was almost one hundred percent sure, that there would be a similar Serpent printed across the back of it.

Pausing to follow my eyes, his brow furrowed along with the stubble of his jawbone. "I'm sorry – do we…?" 

"No, no we don't," I apologised. "I'm sorry – I'm a little bit drunk." Finishing my sentence with an airy laugh that sounded more like a cackle, I began to move my eyes to the floor and scuttle off to the bathroom. He moved out of the way to allow me to go through.

"The name's Dust," he announced boldly. "And you?" 

"Betty, Betty Cooper. It's nice to meet you, Dust."

He nodded. "And you. Have a good night, Betty Cooper." Draining the rest of his beer can, he tossed it expertly into the trash behind the bar and began to wind his way back through the crowd. As I guessed, there was a Serpent glaring back at me – enhanced and warped by the neon lights bouncing off the back of his jacket.

Escaping into the bathroom, I silently congratulated myself for not suddenly blurting out Jughead's name and asking how he was doing in the gang. Jughead risked a huge amount, for joining the Serpents and if nothing else, I wanted to ensure that I could do everything possible to make sure his cover wasn't blown. Especially by his stupid, drunk girlfriend.

Placing my hands in the sink, I splashed handfuls of water onto my rosy cheeks as I began to feel cooler. The entrance swung open to reveal a worried-looking Veronica in the doorway. She caught side of me and gasped, catching her breath. Thankfully, we seemed to be alone in the bathroom and away from prying eyes. As the door swung shut, as did the sounds of drum and bass – suddenly dulling into a quiet thrumming.

"Ron, what's wrong?" I rushed forwards to her, placing my hands on her shoulders.

"It's Archie," she hissed. "One second – we were dancing and then the next – he was rushing off into the crowd, yelling loudly. He caught sight of a random Serpent leaving the club and suddenly," she threw her arms up into the air. "I don't even _know_ Betty, he totally flipped and went after this guy." 

My heart hammered softly in my ribcage as I digested the information. "And he's just… Gone after him?" 

Ronnie nodded, tears pooling at the sides of her eyes. She angrily rubbed them away before they had a chance to cascade down her cheeks. "He's obviously not getting any better, B. We need to leave – _now_. That moron's going to get himself hurt… What if the Serpent guy doesn't take too kindly, to being followed?" 

Biting my lip, I nodded. "I think I just met him." 


	11. 11 - Jughead

**Hello everyone!**

 **I just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone that had reviewed, favourited and alerted this story. I'm so sorry I haven't updated this in about 6 months or so. In the midst of some personal issues, I've now decided to pick up the laptop and have started writing again. I also have disliked Riverdale season 2 so far, and are on a bit of a hiatus with watching it - but without further ado - please enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Chp. 11 – Jughead.**

"Eh, Jones – what's the rusty piece of crap in the back?" Cayden wandered back into the bar, glass in hand as he dried it fresh from the sink. I glanced up from my notepad to see him jab his thumb toward the back entrance of the building.

"I think you'll find that's my bike, knucklehead." I cocked my head and returned back to the notebook before me, determined to make sense of my tired scribbles. I was aware that the more I concentrated on the words, the more they seemed to dance across the pages and float off into nothingness.

Cayden snorted. "Under all that rust man? You'll be lucky if that junk gets you to the border." Shaking his head, he proceeded to dry and next set of glasses and stack them up behind the bar. Luckily, it was a slow evening in the Wyrm for a Friday night. Keller and his deputies made sure of that.

"If you want to go ahead and buy me a brand-new motorbike, Cayden – don't let me stop you. The thing runs fine, it just needs some work." Sighing, I slammed the notebook shut and drained the rest of my beverage.

"I know someone who'll do that up for you at a reasonable price," Cayden nodded. "Of course, you might have to enter into his underground fight club… But it's worth it for a proud set of wheels." He touched the side of his face, fingers running over a small scar on his jawbone. I neglected to ask if it was from the highly illegal fight club or not.

"My girl could probably fix it," I mused. "She's worked on cars before, surely bikes aren't too different?"

"That's like saying pickles and onions are the same thing," Cayden shook his head in mock sympathy. "Thank God you're no mechanic, Jones."

"My talents thankfully lie in other areas." I muttered, fingers finding the comforting leather-bound notebook. As with my Jason memoirs, I took the decision to begin writing again and documenting my recent journey and findings. That way if something bad were to happen, someone might chance to open it up one day, and find that I wasn't a bad person after all. If only, my father had decided to do the same. There would be a better level of understanding between us.

"God, I hope you do," Cayden cracked a smile. "Those huge motorcycle gangs in New York, would ride circles around that junk."

"New York?" I frowned. "The ones causing trouble?" Casting my mind back to earlier in the week, I recalled Rex roughly scanning through a couple of recent online articles about the danger of motorcycle gangs in the big city. We were hundreds of miles away, but with the impending doom of Sheriff Keller closing in on the local gangs, things were going to change dramatically, eventually.

My bond brother finished with setting up the empty glasses and leaned against the counter, tossing the old rag over his shoulder, looking troubled. "It's pretty bad, Jughead. Their leader upped and disappeared one day – no trace or a scent of his whereabouts. They've got some pretty heavy rival gangs down there, a lot of bloodshed." Shaking his head, he thumbed the scar across his cheek in thought.

The front door swung open and Dust stepped in, tossing his jacket onto the back of the nearest chair. Exhaling slowly, he made his way over to the bar and grabbed one of Cayden's newly washed glasses, helping himself to the nearest beer pump.

"Boys." He greeted gruffly.

There was something that unnerved me about the potential, next in line to the Serpent throne. Dust was strong, confident and courageous. But he left a bad taste in my mouth. He was like a well-presented apple, that was sour in the middle – even though it had ticked all other boxes. This current moment was no exception. I was uncomfortable to be seated a few stools away. I tried very hard not to let the disdain show on my face

"Good evening?" Cayden asked conversationally. His eyes glanced around at the now-empty bar, showing signs of the 1am hour. What once thrived with life a few months ago, Serpents were now forced to lie low or be subject to heavy questioning about their evening intentions by the police – hovering strategically around the town.

"Fine," Dust grunted. "Managed to do a few deals down at Poseidon. I'm chasing up some loose ends for money."

"The new club? By the border?"

"Full of kids," Dust grinned widely, turning towards me and raking his eyes over my face. "Your girl's real nice, Jughead." He said suddenly, calmly taking few gulps of his frothy beverage.

He was goading me. And it was working.

Before I could open my mouth to formulate a response, there was a sudden sound of yelling and voices. There were coming from outside the bar.

"You should go outside and see to that." Dust said quietly, draining the rest of his glass. Silently, he slid the empty vessel over to Cayden and crawled upstairs to his office, slamming the door behind him. Cayden moved his eyes over to me and shrugged.

Sighing deeply and trying to swallow down my anger from the Betty comment – I nudged open the huge double doors and stepped out into the cool night air, blinking quickly to adjust my eyes to the darker scene outside.

At once, there was an audible gasp. It was a blood redness of Archie's hair that I caught sight of first. Behind him, stood a tear-stained Veronica. And Betty.

I froze on the spot, unable to take my eyes of her horrified face. We were rumbled. Veronica and Archie didn't need to ask any further questions about my appearance at the Whyte Wyrm, sporting one of their infamous leather jackets. My sleeves were rolled up, forearm openly bearing the healed tattoo. There would be no funny stories to tell over milkshakes, about this funny situation that they'd found me in. Only the cold, hard truth.

I was confused at why the hell they were here in the first place. Instinctively, I scowled and my eyes found Betty – momentarily worried that she was the one who burst out our months of work in a moment of weakness. But after a few silent beats passed, I realised that Dust must have had a heavy influence in the current situation. He knew only too well, the pedestal that he'd just placed me onto. It wouldn't surprise me at all, if he were twitching behind one of the old threadbare curtains upstairs.

He'd bested me.

It was Archie's expression that killed me the most. His features moved from a timeline of shock; to anger; to fury; to pain; to betrayal. His face hardened, jawline sharply exposed. His knuckles clenched in white hot anger.

"You… Are you… Kidding me?" He spat quietly, unable to string together a proper sentence. Behind him, Veronica quietly stepped forwards and grabbed onto his arm. He shook her off violently. She retreated backwards and Betty caught her by the shoulders, looking between Archie and I with a mask of horror.

"Arch," she said quietly. "You don't understand…"

His head snapped towards Betty, a snarl escaped his lips. "And I suppose you knew about this did you? Is that why they call you the Serpent Slut? Everyone at school?" There was a hint of venom in his pointed words. Betty's face crumbled slightly.

Instinctively, I stepped forwards to stand between him and the girls. "Come on Arch, this is between me and you. Leave her out of it." I said, with more steadiness than I felt. There was no way, I was feel guilty about what I'd sacrificed. Archie may not know or ever understand my reasoning, but I was doing it for him.

"I think we all need to calm down here." Veronica said with more conviction than the horrified look on her face as she eyed my leather jacket with a weary eye. "I'm sure Jughead can explain."

The redhead snorted in response, lips curling upwards. "Let's hear it, man. What's your best story for this, huh?" He threw his arms up at the building incredulously, laughing under his breath. Every second that passed by was heavy with tension.

"You don't know the whole story," Betty said steadily. "How about we all go somewhere quiet. Grab a coffee and Jughead can explain-…"

"I refuse to go anywhere with him!" Archie snapped and jabbed his finger towards me, my knuckles clenched in response. "Did you Dad put you up to this? Give you the keys to the kingdom?"

"Don't bring my Dad into this, Archie." I growled.

"You brought mine into it first," he shot back. "Right when one of your goons decided to put a bullet into his chest. Tell me Jughead – was it you who pulled the trigger?"

That was a low blow. The bones in my hand creaked as I resisted the urge to slam him in the face in response to that comment. I was doing everything for him and Fred. I'd endured weeks and months of isolation for this ungrateful humanoid.

"You wouldn't understand, even if I told you." I said finally. Coldly. I'd said goodbye to the last flecks of emotion on my face. It would be easier this way.

"And what is there to grasp, Jug? You're hanging out with a bunch of liars, thieves and murderers. I think it's pretty damn crystal clear what's going on." His bulky frame shook with undiluted anger. My frosty reply only sent him further. It would be no good to try and explain everything now.

At his words, I thought of my new comrades I'd been working alongside in the past few weeks. The way that Rex took the role of the unofficial father figure of the younger members and strived to teach them the proper way of doing things, so they wouldn't fall far behind the others. The way Cayden voluntarily tended to the bar every night. He'd slip Stigma the odd free drink when the boss man wasn't looking his way. She'd shoot him back a coy smile, breaking through her cold exterior for a few moments so they could share a moment.

"I think you need to leave, Archie." My gazed moved on him, to Veronica and finally to Betty. "All of you."

"Like hell we will. How could you do this Jughead?" His voice broke slightly as he pushed through his wall of emotion. He shuffled from side to side, breathing through his nostrils like a raging bull. It was obvious from the way he stumbled, he'd had more than a few drinks at Poseidon.

Drunk, furious Archie was a less than desirable situation for me to deal with. Dust knew exactly what he wanted to orchestrate, on our turf especially. One call from him, and he'd have the gang mobilised in no time, ready to defend me against the north siders who had invaded. My heart thudded at the thought and I gazed up quickly at his office window, bathed in darkness. He was there somewhere. Waiting and watching. He wanted me to slip up and either reveal my real reason for joining the serpents, or using this as a means to start a war with the North Side.

Damn, he had me.

"You need to go-.." I began to say with more urgency. I was interrupted by an exploding force on my left cheek and was sent sprawling onto the wet tarmac. The taste of copper dripped from my lips and splattered the ground. In the confusion, Archie took the opportunity to kick me in the kidney and slam me against the railings of the car park. Behind him, I could see Betty's face in a mask of fear. It was enough to break me. I'd wished I'd made the effort to call her more.

Archie roughly grabbed my collar and leaned in with a dark sneer. I slipped my arms from the leather jacket and punched him through the material with a free arm, loosening his grip on me. As he stumbled, I lined up a perfect upper cut onto the jaw that landed with a satisfied crunch on the bottom of his chin.

"Stop!" Betty commanded as she waded into the fray and pushed my chest away with her hands. She did the same to Archie as he leaned in eagerly for round two.

"Get out of my way." He commanded.

"You guys need to stop," she spat, disgusted. "Before you both do something you regret."

"There's only one thing I regret right now… And it's letting that scumbag Southside trash into my house," he looked away from me, eyes clouded with hate. "My Dad must be rolling in his grave."

"You don't get to be hurt," I gushed through a river of blood pouring from my nose. "Not after how you treated your friends when they tried to help." I pointedly gazed at the tear stained Veronica and furious Betty to prove my point. Archie scowled – cheeks flamed from a mixture of drink and what I hoped was shame.

"And you don't get to be all Mr. High and Mighty Jones anymore," he sneered. "Not after this. You can sit up there in your ivory tower and judge everyone else all you want… But you betrayed everyone who bothered to give into your dark little world. Whatever. We're done." He turned to go, wiping the blood from the opening on his chin, onto his dark hoodie and muttered something under his breath about being glad my Mom and Jellybean weren't around to see this.

Before I could open my mouth to form a coherent sentence, my body acted impulsively and I suddenly found my foot flying to the centre of his back. Months of pent up loneliness and aggression all in one well aimed kick – directly at the person I was risking everything for. Archie sprawled a couple of metres away, aided by the alcohol surging through his system. I could see in the dim light of the bar behind me, that his face was adorned with scratches and indents from the loose tarmac. His mouth formed a snarl and I stood ready to fight with everything I had.

I was totally done with him too. I was done with everything.

"Jughead-.. Stop! You know how this looks to him - he's just angry and he doesn't know what he's saying!" Betty stepped forwards once again to come between us. Her eyes moved slowly from my ashen face to just behind my shoulder. I didn't need to turn around to know that he was there.

"Well, well," Dust practically sang. "What do we have here?" He smiled almost gleefully and shoved his hands inside the pockets of his jacket, slightly opening the zip to reveal the handgun concealed in his harness. At the sound of his voice, I felt a chill creep up my spine to meet the place in which he held my shoulder. Frantically, I tried to catch Betty's eyes, but she was distracted by the other figures swarming in around us.

Cayden and Stigma flanked us both, followed by Rex. At the entrance to the car pack, a few other members had began to circle closer and close the gaps – holding various blunt weapons. I swallowed, hard.

"Your family has arrived." Archie croaked, semi satisfied. Veronica bent down and dragged him to his feet where he stumbled slightly.

"The stench of the North Side wafted around here fast," Dust replied quietly. "It's been a while since we've had trespassers." He wistfully touched the handgun wistfully, fingers danced over the safety latch.

"And this will be the last time," I said firmly. "Won't it guys?" My eyes flashed at Betty, who nodded pointedly.

"We're sorry to bother you," she said slowly, tearing her eyes from the gun and looking at him firmly in the eyes. "We just came to retrieve out friend." The expression on her face was difficult to read. If I knew Betty, she was trying to dream up various scenarios that they could get out of this mess unscathed.

Stigma merely narrowed her dark eyes. "Why were you here in the first place, sweetheart?" The corners of her mouth upturned into a grin. It wasn't a friendly one, holding a predatory undercurrent.

"They came to retrieve their fourth musketeer of course," Dust clapped me on the shoulder once again. Harder. "But our boy isn't going with them. Are you, Jughead?" He pretended to paste a hurt look onto his face. The others jeered and tittered around his like jungle birds. They could smell blood in the water.

"No," I whispered and glanced at Archie. "I'm not coming back."

"So what do we do with these?" One of the other leather clad lackeys nodded towards my former friends. He playfully flicked his baseball bat upwards and moved closer with the others. Their faces now pooled into the light of the bar.

"We take out the trash, Serpents." Dust replied cheerfully. He cackled quietly under his breath. Even behind me, I could smell the heavy scent of whiskey and cigars. Betty's eyes flashed to me in panic, my heart thrummed I imagined in time with hers as we tried to measure the gravity of the situation. I was suddenly very aware of the bodies closing in on the group.

"Perhaps," a voice began behind me. It was Rex; he cleared this throat and stepped forwards to my other shoulder. "We could send them back as they are? It wouldn't bode well on the cops if we put the hurt on them now, would it?"

Dust stared back incredulously, jaw firm. "The little dust bunnies are on our territory. I wasn't aware that we were going to roll over and let them go free?"

"But yet, here we are," Rex smiled steadily and fingered his beard. "Can you imagine what heat they'll throw on us if we sent back three Northsiders half beaten to death? It's crazy now, Dust. We didn't even kill Andrews, but look what they're trying to peg on us."

I willed with all my heart, that Archie would keep his quirky comebacks to himself at that comment.

Dust rolled his eyes dramatically and held out his hands and gazing around at the circle. "Look at this, fellow comrades – we've gone soft! The cops are pressuring us because they fear us. We need to play into that fear. If we send them back unscathed, what kind of message do you think that would send the people?"

"It would guarantee the entire Riverdale police force to kick down the doors to the Wyrm, guns flying. We've lost numbers to our ranks since this all began Dust, surely you've noticed? Do you want to put a target onto the backs of our remaining members too?" He locked eyes with the other Serpents to enhance his point. I could see the hesitation in their faces. Cayden and Stigma exchanged looks.

Dust sighed, chest heaving from what I imagined was silent anger. He turned his mouth upwards into a convincing smile, beaten. "I would never risk the lives of my loyal followers."

"Then it's done," Rex conceded and addressed the group. "Go home to your houses, Serpents. There's no need for bloodshed tonight. He stepped forwards to survey Betty, Veronica and Archie, who'd stayed thankfully silent during the tense exchange. "I think you'd better get back over to your side of the border, don't you?"

Veronica nodded. Dealing with intimidating parents in her childhood, she would sense the time to back down. "Yes." She muttered.

"Don't let us see your faces around here from now on. It's open season on North Siders." Dust warned, an air of jolly finality to his tone. Underneath, a current of poisonous threat laced his words. As the gang hesitantly dispersed, he turned to go inside – not before catching my eye with a silent victory. Deep down, he knew I had a role to play. He was going to enjoy toying with me. Like his own personal puppet.

When I turned back to gaze out into the car park, my former friends had already gone.

I made the decision to stay in the trailer after I left the Wyrm. Sleep escaped me that night. I tossed and turned for the first few hours before succumbing to letting the few warm tears escape my eyes and disappear into the pillow. I was on track to finding out who killed Fred, yet was also becoming hideously entangled in the Serpent's dramas, town civil wars and the sheer possibility of never being able to repair my relationships.

"Dammit." I whispered. Every limb ached with exhaustion and bruising where Archie had gotten in a few lucky hits. I almost smirked at the thought of Archie and I finally going toe to toe as equals. Still, my heart panged for my red headed best friend. Every time I closed my eyes to try and succumb to sleep – his face would flash across my mind; caked in blood and eyes full of hate for me. His face promptly turned to Dust's olive tanned smirk.

He had me exactly where he wanted me.

There was a sudden noise coming from the living room which sounded suspiciously like the front door. My eyes were adjusted to the pitch black so I had no trouble sliding out of bed and locating the baseball bat by the bedroom door and waiting patiently for the unknown assailant.

I heard footsteps creeping quietly through the tiny kitchen area and down the landing towards me. My fingers flexed around the handle and I swung my body around the door to crack it down on someone's skull.

There was a gasp and a muffled yell and an explosion of blonde hair. I knocked my swing out at the very last moment and dropped the bat at my feet, knowing the smell of lavender before they spoke.

"Betty?" I murmured.

"Y-Yes, were you about to knock me out with that?" She flipped the switch of the landing light and stared down at the bat in horror.

"Well, yes," I admitted. "Obviously, you'd have received a better welcome, if I knew it was you." I sighed and retrieved the bat, placing it back behind the bedroom door. I craned my neck around into the living room. "You're here alone? At 4 in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep. Went for a walk and found myself here actually."

"That's one hell of a 40-minute walk. Can I get you anything?"

"No. Well, you. I'm here for you." She sighed, head falling into her hands. "I'm struggling Jug. What the hell happened tonight? Where are we now?"

I groaned, this wasn't a conversation I wanted at 4am. Even sleep depraved and pale, she still looked hauntingly beautiful in ways I couldn't even form the words. It took every ounce of my willpower not to scoop her up in my self-loathing arms and carry her back to the safety of my darkened bedroom.

"We are just existing, for the moment. Kind of in limbo – or I am anyway," I shrugged. "I'm sorry Betty but I have no idea how to even explain the situation right now. It was a real shock seeing you all there."

"Did you really have to be so cold with Archie?" She challenged. "He was being an ass to you – I know, but how did you think he would react? You know how he feels about the Serpents and being lost right now!"

I groaned. "Betts… There's a lot going on here right now. You really shouldn't even be here-…"

"No," she snapped. "Don't even give me that crap about belonging to the South Side now and that you feel you need to follow your destiny here. You can lie and cheat the rest of the town and our friends, but I know you better than that, Jughead Jones You're in way over your head right now and you're going to really get hurt soon."

"Do you?" I muttered. "Betty, you saw me punch Archie right? Do you think those were the actions of someone you know?" I frowned deeply. I'd lost control and I knew it. I was desperate and hurt.

"No," she whispered. "But something is going on here."

I thought for a fleeting second about being truthful with the girl of my dreams. It haunted me that Dust knew her name and her face. Within a few hours, he could have all of the information on where she lived and spent her time as well. If tonight had taught me anything; it was that Betty and the others could be in serious danger – especially if Dust saw me as a threat to his leadership as Rex had predicted.

And it would be all my fault.

"Please englighten me further on what I should do next Betty, because I have no idea." I swallowed my emotion and spat sarcastically, slapping my arms against my sides. Betty's eyes flashed with fury and she shoved me lightly backwards.

"Jughead – I don't really know who you are anymore. Because you left me. You literally walked out on all of us, and me – to follow this path that has now totally consumed you. The Jughead I know, would never ever hit his friends. I don't even know how to handle this anymore." She swallowed whatever tears were threatening to come and cast her eyes around the rest of the trailer, not bearing to gaze at me anymore. She was shaken up and breaking inside – torn between right and wrong. That much was obvious.

"You're right, I wouldn't do that," I had to be careful, treading on extremely thin ice that dared to cast us both over the side into the cold dark truth, that Dust would now be watching our every move closely. "That is exactly why you need to leave me here right now, alone."

Confused and incredulous, she raised her arms. "That doesn't make any sense."

"It does if you think long and hard about it," I said pointedly, not daring to break eye contact with her. "Come on Betty, you're the smartest girl I know." I hoped that she was beginning to understand the full picture without me having to spell it out and risk both of our lives. It was difficult to talk to Betty when she was emotionally charged and had a goal in mind. A bull in a china shop until she reached a conclusion or an ending she was happy with.

"Please don't worry about me, I'm fine." I said. Of course it was an absolute lie. I'd literally pushed myself away from everyone and everything I ever knew and loved, cast myself into an oblivion of dark bars and shady characters and my scarred life now hanged in the balance, threatening to fall either way. Whatever way it landed, someone was going to get hurt.

"I promise you Betty," I stepped forwards and grabbed her hands, clasping them to my chest so they came to rest on my heart. "I'm not lost. But I'm going to be in darkness for a long time, so I'm depending on you to keep everyone safe. You will always be my home." I kissed her hands, adorned with finger nail markings and pressed my face into her knuckles. I could almost hear the cogs whirring in her head, wondering what move she should make next.

"I can't do this anymore. It's too difficult. " She whispered, eyes glistening brighter than the moonlight pooling through the old windows.

"It is," I allowed. "But please know, that I will never leave you. If this is too difficult for you, then I understand, and we'll be done."

She paused for a moment, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. She nodded and muttered; "Maybe it's for the best." She choked on the last word and looked away quickly – mortified that we were even having this discussion.

"If that's how you feel," I muttered huskily. "Then I respect that. Seriously Betty – you heard the Serpents, you need to be getting home before anyone sees you." I didn't even care that I was begging her to leave – she needed to be in a safe place. For all I knew, the trailer might be being watched.

Wordlessly, she nodded in understanding and pressed her wet lips to mine one last time. I was unsure of how long we stayed locked together, but it was all over too soon anyway. Within the next moment, she'd whispered goodbye and slipped out of the trailer, door closing behind with a click of reality.

My heart broke into a million, sharp stabbing pieces. She had cried for me, obviously torn inside. I longed to put my arms around her and hold her tight, kiss her head and promise her that I would return to the North side, just as soon as I found out who Fred's killer was and why. That we'd pick things up where we left off, and I would propose to her with the biggest ring I could afford. I wanted to tell her that her face haunted me every night in my dreams, that my bed and my trailer felt cold and empty without her.

But I chose to stay strong for all of them, I owed it to Fred to try and avenge him – for helping me to choose life that one summer evening. Even if Archie didn't forgive me one day, I could live peacefully knowing that I made the right decisions to keep him safe and the others.

I gulped, wiping my damp face one last time and headed off into the dark bedroom once more. It made everything easier. To my friends, the Jughead Jones they knew and loved, was dead and replaced with the real me; a cold calculated Serpent.


	12. 12 - Betty

**Chp. 12 – Betty.**

I felt bad.

Bad Betty.

My lips curled into a crimson smile as I could feel myself giving into my inner darkness and moving slowly towards the dance floor. Dark bodies around me, parted ways to welcome me into the pumping thrall of the crowd. At once, I closed my eyes and listened to the heavy beat of the music, my body obeying my every whim, as it twisted along in time. The bass was so loud, that it reverberated up through my heeled feet, from the dancefloor below and through my bones. I was at one with the music. At one with myself. All dark, no stars. No holds barred.

Who was Betty, again?

The pastel coloured clothes and the pink, innocent bedroom felt like a far-off memory that I didn't want to remember. As far as I was concerned, that Betty was dead. I was no longer weak, defined by those around me. I was strong.

And it felt so good.

The music changed. A figure approached me to the left-hand side, stalking closer and closer. I noticed his dark hair and his slouch before he reached me. Stepping into the strobe light, I could see he was just another random guy. Just another disappointment.

He said nothing, just grabbing onto my thighs and forcing me to dance against him. I scowled immediately and dug my nails into his toned arms. He swore loudly into the music and glared at me, incredulous.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He mouthed into the noises of Poseidon all around us.

I leaned forward into his ear and whispered; "The next time, it'll be your face." I arched my eyes around to meet his, so he could see that I was deadly serious. There was no coy smile full of tease and promise – just cold hard truth. With a scowl and a shake of his head, he swore loudly and disappeared into the crowd. Good.

I was a terrible dancer, but I wasn't here to prove anything – only to lose myself into whatever music there was tonight. The DJ was a regular from Greendale – just a goofball with dreams as usual. The Poseidon staff were beginning to recognise me by face and threw a nod of greeting my way whenever I had the inkling to escape the North Side. It was a dangerous gamble and I knew that I was now banned from crossing the border officially – but I didn't care.

Nothing really mattered anymore.

His face filled my mind, a little crease of worry in between his knotted eyebrows. The last time I saw him was weeks ago, but the memory of our last hasty kiss haunted me nightly, amidst a cloud of night terrors and episodes of gasping for air. Letting him go was the best decision I was forced to make, I was losing myself to constant fear.

Whereas now, I didn't care about anything at all.

Bad Betty.

There was a hustle of movement to my left-hand side and a swash of tall, dark hair peered into my eyeline. I rolled my eyes as soon as the light moved across his face and I could see the accusatory glare and wide triumphant grin.

"Reggie," I announced. "Of course, you would find me here." I scowled, folding my arms.

"Of course," he practically sang and threw his tanned arm across my naked shoulders. "You're getting too predictable, girl!"

"Remind me to put out a restraining order on you." I muttered drily as I complied with his steering. He expertly weaved us out of the dance floor, through the huddle of wasted patrons and across the foggy room to where I knew there would be others waiting for us. Like clockwork, Veronica and Cheryl stood by the entrance already holding out a jacket for me to step into. Already knowing that arguing would do me no good, I slid into the coat and Veronica fastened together the buttons, stood back and smiled triumphantly.

"There's our little runaway flower." She cooed.

"She thought she had the better of us this time," Cheryl winked. "It was particularly applaud worthy – I've never seen anyone shimmy down the side of the house quite as quick as she. And I was a teenage tearaway!" Her blood red lips pulled into a smile and she held out her hand expectantly as Kevin Keller appeared from nowhere, popping a large coffee cup into her manicured hand. Wordlessly, she thrust the hot cup into my chest.

Reggie began to steer me through the cloakroom and nodded at the security guards as we exited into the chilly March air, that swirled around us in a soft breeze. Kevin stretched and massaged his neck as he walked by our side, flanked by Cheryl and Veronica.

"Can someone write down 'climbed out of window in the middle of the night'? Mark it down as attempt 1000 please." Kevin chuckled to himself, words appearing as mist and hovered in the air. Cheryl sighed dramatically and tapped away at her phone, no doubt recording this humiliating situation.

"Oh I don't know – she's getting quirkier," Reggie grinned and shook my shoulders. "It took us a little while to figure out this time."

"They don't call her the modern-day Nancy Drew for nothing." Veronica replied.

"Can you all stop talking about me like I'm not here?" I growled and shrugged Reggie's arm off my shoulder, whirling around to face them all. Even through the quilted lining of the coat, I couldn't help but shiver involuntarily as the air nipped at my legs and face. They regarded me wearily, not too sure of what to say next; to the human mess who stood before them. A heavy silence pressed down on us.

"You need to stop whatever self-destruction train you're on," Ronnie said quietly. "We're only here to help you, B. This is the third night this week." She nibbled the corner of her perfectly lined lips in anguish as her eyes faltered on me. I was aware just how much it must be hurting her, to see her best friend behaving like this. But it was not enough to rouse the right emotion in me.

"And don't even say you're fine," Kevin warned. "Or so help me, I will drag you over to that trailer park right now-…"

"Can we just go home?" I said loudly and cut across him before he could say his next choice words. I glanced down at the gleam of the damp road as I could feel the alienating stares around me. Someone sighed and Reggie muttered; "Sure, we'll take my car."

The gang dispersed into whatever other buzzkill plans they had for the night. Reggie held open the door to his father's Audi and I climbed in, gulping down the hot coffee quickly, so it would heat up my frozen interior faster. Somehow, I didn't think the internal chilliness was entirely due to the cold March snap.

"Don't spill any again," Reggie warned and turned on the ignition, expertly pulling out of the nearby car park. "My Dad totally noticed last time and I had to cover for you. I'm pretty sure he loves this car more than my Mom."

"Love is overrated." I muttered, bored. The small amount of alcohol I had consumed at Poseidon, had now all but worn off and left me with the embarrassing reality of having to be rescued by my friends, yet again. I closed my eyes in anguish and rested my head on the back of the smart leather seating. Reggie chose to say nothing in that moment, which was for the best. I would have continued to argue back with him either way.

"I'm not going to tell you how to live your life, Betty," he murmured and glanced away from the road to look at me. "But we are your friends and we're totally here for you. I'll do as many late-night drives as I need to, for as long as you need. You can drop that damn coffee cup as many times as you want, I'll still take the heat from my Dad."

I couldn't help but grin. "You're such an idiot, Reggie."

He shrugged. "I'm a good idiot though. I also just got a smile out of you – call Cheryl; I think we've had a breakthrough."

My smile faded quickly as my reality once again hit home. Sinking further into my seat, I took another long gulp of coffee and gazed at the streaks of light from the passing streetlights, as they danced across the dashboard. It was a beautiful night and the stars were out in full. It felt like forever ago, that Jug and I would sometimes climb onto the top of the trailer and drape a blanket over ourselves, as we expertly tried to guess the constellations.

"I reckon that one up there," Jughead had frowned in thought during our last session. "Is Copernicus."

"What?" I had snorted and laughed uncontrollably. "He's a renaissance mathematician-..."

"-… That also happens to have a very constellation-worthy name." Jughead finished and grinned cockily. "Don't you think?" He looked the most confident and at peace with himself, that I didn't bother to further ridicule him. It was that spark of life in his dark eyes which was one of the things that allowed me to fall in love with him. He'd endured hell during his childhood – and he was still no closer to finding peace.

"We're here." Reggie muttered quietly as he pulled the car into my street and parked a few houses down from my own. I blinked sleepily – still manging to hold the coffee cup without any more accidental spillages.

"Already?" I yawned and rubbed my eyes.

"You fell asleep," he said. "I personally think that your time as Thelma – or Louise, take whichever one you want – is taking its toll on you. You need to rest, Betty." He turned off the engine and reclined back into his seat, resting his arm on the door. Even in the gloom of the early Sunday morning hour, I could see the worried expression on his features.

"Yes, mother." I rolled my eyes.

"Archie's reverted back to his self-destructive self for the time being. Veronica is trying to manage him, but whatever happened that night between he and Jughead… Well, it's really pissed him off," Reggie shrugged over the friend politics. "My point is – don't be an Archie. Don't be a Jughead. Be Betty, be yourself."

"I am," I murmured and pushed the passenger door open, glancing back into the gloom behind me. "That's the problem."

The house was cast in darkness and I didn't feel like turning on the lights. I didn't feel like doing much of anything really. After tossing my keys on the side table and slamming the door behind loudly, I went into the living room and sank down on the nearest sofa, head in hands. I was unsure of what the time finally was, but lack of my screaming mother and disappointed father, was a clear indication that they must have gone away somewhere for the evening. I supposed that it was lucky; I wasn't ready for round two of responsibility lectures.

But what now?

I could try and fall as far as I wanted to, but my friends would never let me tumble too far down into the chasm of total darkness. I wasn't sure that I wanted to. Archie was a clear poster child of how much a life event could change someone and he was teetering off the rails yet again.

I groaned into my hands. How did everything become so difficult?

Feeling the alcohol swimming inside; I knew that I could try and give Jughead a call and talk things over, figure things out. But it was impossible and totally irresponsible – to give my ex-boyfriend a call to talk about my feelings and my darkness?

No, it was ridiculous.

The house felt abnormally quiet and the silence screamed in my ears. In all corners, the darkness pressed in heavily and I was too tired to try and fight it away. In truth, the house had never truly felt like a proper home I belonged in - like in TV shows with the perfect nuclear families. Even when Polly and my parents were home, the atmosphere was never chilled or calm.

I opened my eyes and gazed out into the inky blackness of the living room, where every item of furniture was perfectly places due to Alice Cooper's expectations. The only real difference, was a small piece of paper that looked as if it was hurriedly stuffed into the sideboard, and consequently trapped in the door.

I frowned, that definitely fell out of Alice Cooper's standards.

Raising slowly from the sofa so as not to further aggravate my pounding head, I padded across to the other side of the room and pulled the paper free from the door. At once, it was blatantly obvious that the scrap of paper had been haphazardly torn from the page of a notebook and scrunched up somewhere in the process. It bore only a few words:

"I know what you did." I muttered. The words sounded taboo in the silent house. The walls suddenly felt as if they were creeping closer, boxing me in. I stared at the slip of paper for a good five minutes before I had the capacity to fully absorb the dark undertone of the words and even then, didn't make sense at to why someone would be so lax at hiding it?

I could feel the Good Betty within me, stirring at the prospect of having a new mystery to solve, a new secret to unravel. With a hard-set mouth, I pushed her back downwards into the darkness where she belonged. Theses were games I would not be playing anymore.

Obediently, I placed the paper back into the wooden doors of the sideboard and slipped upstairs to my bedroom.

Waking up the next morning, my head didn't swim as much as I'd hoped. A serious hangover meant that I could happily crawl under the covers and hide for the rest of the day unhindered – in darkness. Alone.

My internal body clock hinted it was late Saturday morning. I gazed down numbly at my newly painted fingernails – deep blue. It was a far cry from the usual predictable pink, that currently lay buried in the corner of the room amongst a pile of discarded pastel clothing. The clothes lay quiet like corpses that were torn unceremoniously from the safety of the wardrobe and dragged out for the rest of the world to see. I wondered if Jason Blossom also felt so victimised and naked in the end.

Blue was safe. Devoid of warmth and feeling.

There was a soft knock at the door and Polly appeared, her head peering around the frame. At once, her eyes landed on the pile of debris in the corner.

"Cleaning out?"

"You could say that," I muttered. "What's up, Poll?"

She flicked her eyes back to me uneasily and leaned against the doorframe, stomach heaving against the lining of her woollen dress. "Mom and Dad just called – they're staying a few more days in Kansas. They wanted to say goodbye to you yesterday but…" She trained off. "You were… Out."

"Clubbing." I offered.

"Which I retracted from the excuse in which I covered for you," she sighed. "Do I need to start telling them about this as well?" She gestured to the huge pile.

I raised an eyebrow. "If you want. Mom will agree with me. She's been nagging for me to go through my things for weeks."

"I don't think this is what she had in mind somehow. The odd coat or shirt that didn't fit anymore, kind of thing. Not your entire wardrobe." Polly was tight lipped, she rubbed her swollen stomach unconsciously, as if it would soothe her too.

"Pick out what you want then," I shrugged. "I still have plenty of clothes. You are free to tell them whatever you want to." I pasted a smile onto my lips, without looking her squarely in the eyes and hoped she would go away. But she still hung silently in the doorway.

"I'm going out today with Cheryl to get the last of the baby things for the twins, I'll need. Plus some extra time with the extended family, couldn't hurt right?" She rolled her eyes. "Do you want to come with? It might take your mind off… Things." Her eyes found the mess once again. I almost smirked at how much it bothered her.

"To take my mind off Jughead and I breaking up." I muttered. I flinched inwardly at the effort it took to say his name, without it showing on my face.

"Yes," she breathed. "We haven't hung out together in ages." She offered a comforting smile. The kind that would dazzle with rays of sunshine to warm up the recipient. But it didn't reach me.

"No thanks." I said finally. With another worried glance in my direction, she nodded quietly and disappeared down the stairs. I froze on top of the bedspread until I heard the front door close and breathed out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding.

It was when my stomach rumbled unpleasantly that realised I hadn't eaten anything in over sixteen hours - I struggled to even remember what I last ate; let alone when. Padding downstairs into the quiet kitchen, I pulled out some of the Spaghetti leftovers from last night's meal I didn't show for, before Mom and Dad left for their apparent last-minute trip.

Tossing a portion into the microwave, I leaned back on the breakfast bar with my arms folded. The sound of the machine against the rest of the silent house was almost deafening. Annoyingly, it was my thoughts that screamed the loudest. Good Betty didn't want to keep quiet without a fight.

Who would send that note and why was it hidden – badly? I couldn't help but wonder. If this was a few months ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to call my partner in crime and see if we could hash it out together.

The pain of not having spoken to each other in weeks, was crushing. Not even a glance around town, a rumour on the wind, no sign of him anywhere, nothing.

I jumped in my skin at the sound of my shrilly ringtone, vibrating arrogantly on the marble counter. Without looking at the name of the caller, I yanked it up and pressed it eagerly to my ear. "Hello?" My heart hammered softly for a few beats. A moment of silence passed before they replied.

"Betty, it's good to hear your voice."

"Chic," I stated. "Glad to hear you're still around."

He chuckled. "I could say the same. I was just calling to check that you were still doing okay, no more… Incidents?"

I smiled tightly at the thought of being okay. "No more murders since Tom it seems. It still feels like the killer's presence is still 'here' if you know what I mean? It definitely wasn't the end of it."

"No," he agreed. "Psychopaths like that, usually have some kind of agenda." His words hung in the air and I frowned in response. With all of the recent drama with Jughead, Archie and the Serpents – Chic was totally right. Where was the killer now and what was he planning next?

"I think I might have a lead actually," he admitted and paused. "Are you free anytime soon? Maybe we could talk it over and see what we think? This guy needs to be stopped."

"I have nothing better to do," I said straight away. "It'll just be me this time. No Ronnie."

"You sure? I'm not putting you out or anything? I figured a Nancy Drew type like you would want to get in on this."

"Oh I do. In fact, it's probably exactly what I need right now." Glancing across the hallway into the living room. The side board sat in my direct field of vision. I nibbled my lips thoughtfully. Good Betty hovered eagerly at the back of my conscious and ready to take centre stage.

"Great. I'll text you the address. You'd be best off coming alone, I'm not sure who we can trust at the moment."

"Yep, alone." I confirmed, feeling a lick of pain at the edges of the giant hole inside me. After we'd said goodbye, I gulped down a few mouthfuls of the lukewarm spaghetti and threw on my nearest coat. Outside, the air was heavy with the taste of an incoming storm, smelling strongly of wet spring grass. Grey clouds gathered overhead as I stepped out of the front door and into my Mom's station wagon. I figured she and Dad must have taken his Land Rover to Kansas.

There was a strange feeling inside me. A dark feeling of excitement. I was going to a totally strange location out of Riverdale, and no one would know where I was. As I reversed out of the drive and began to start off down the tree lined road, I could feel the satisfied smile tugging at my lips.

Good to his word, Chic had texted across the directions and address he wanted to meet at – alongside a hasty message that I should take the back roads in case I was being followed somehow. I'd forgotten how paranoid he was.

I snorted at the irony, I would be lucky to get out of town before Ronnie and the others finding out somehow and sending out a search party to retrieve me. Again.

Climbing onto the motorway, it felt good to leave behind the Riverdale welcome sign. Since Jason's death, it felt like a demonic beacon that attracted nothing but horror and lies to its residents. My speech last year did next to nothing in the end. In a twisted way, maybe Jason was the luckiest one of us all to get out when he did, before the town drowned in darkness.

As the semi-empty road stretched out across the horizon, it was difficult to keep my mind on other things that didn't involve my beanie-clad love. He haunted me in my dreams and during every waking minute. His face was etched into my memory from the night that the Serpents almost taught us a lesson – and would have been successful if the older gentleman hadn't intervened on our behalf. He was terrified. I think I was terrified on his behalf.

I groaned and swallowed down the guilt and emotion down into the pit of my stomach, where it belonged. I couldn't afford to lose focus now.

Shivering involuntarily, I flicked the dial on the dashboard and the low hum of the heating kicked in. With the approaching storm nearing closer, the temperature was beginning to drop as the low howl of the wind whispered against the car.

Dust was a bad man. Even locking eyes momentarily with him in Poseidon; that much was obvious. I couldn't even imagine how Jughead must have been feeling.

Gritting my teeth against these intrusive thoughts, I floored the accelerator and the car lurched forwards to hurtle down the motorway, until the surrounding trees and road were nothing more than coloured blurs of green and grey behind me.

It was early afternoon by the time I pulled into a lonely looking motel just off a slip road from the motorway. The place was a typical kind of building that someone would likely get murdered in during a film. The shade of light green collided horribly with the peeling wooden fences and archway that stood against the forefront of the building. Pulling in to park the car, it was obvious that the paintwork hadn't been updated in years and old rain patches bled down to the speckled, broken ceramic tiles. Even during the earlier afternoon, there were various old and won cars adorned around the car park – none of which screamed self-respecting business associate.

I jumped in my seat as someone raked the passenger window impatiently. I hit the window button and it slid down to reveal a well-made up woman with big hair, leaning into the car.

"Nice wheels you got here, blonde," she winked. "Are you lost?" She grinned toothily so I could see the chewing gum moving from one side to the other.

"I'm… Meeting someone…" I said carefully. "Chic? You know him?"

"Chic," she mused and rubbed her nose with huge manicured claws. "Nah. Are his prices good? We try and keep things competitive here, see. Are you sure I can't help ya with something?" That grin again, she moved her eyebrows suggestively and cocked her head.

"No! Oh god… No!" I gabbled, disgusted. "I'm not here for… That. Chic is just a friend. He asked that I come and see him."

Bored with the lack of business, she shrugged. "Belle might've checked him in maybe. Go see her at reception." And with not another word, she sauntered off slowly in her heels to the next car that entered the dingy dive.

Before she or anyone else could apprehend me, I rushed out of the car – checking I'd locked it, twice. And headed off to where an old 'Reception' sign, half cascaded from the entrance door.

Inside the building was just as dire as outside it. There was a small waiting room filled with mismatched chairs that adorned various wounds from ripped upholstery to bent legs. A small booth in the corner of the room, was protected by a foggy perspex window. My eyes trailed over the various signs that decorated the reception area – most of them mugshots with various police phone numbers.

The woman who I assumed was Belle – sat behind the booth, flicking through a trashy looking magazine and snacking on a bag of chips at her side. Swallowing my apprehension for the second time that day, I moved up towards her.

"Betty?" Hearing my name, I glanced across to the darkened stairwell to see Chic hover semi-awkwardly half way down. He thumbed down the page of his book to mark his place and got to his feet to greet me.

"Hey Chic," I nodded and glanced down at the cover. "Dan Brown, huh? That's hard going."

He shrugged and glanced down at the book. "What can I say? I'm a sucker for the Robert Langdon series… She's with me, Belle okay?" He threw over to his shoulder to where Belle continued to flick the pages of her magazine, not a care in the world.

I followed Chic up to the room he was currently holed up in. I could feel my phone in the pocket of my jeans – a constant reminder that there was a killer on the loose and I was alone.

Chic swung his key from his fingers as we walked and stopped at the first door in the second floor, fumbling with the stiff lock. He forced the lock expertly, pushing open the heavy door to reveal a hotel room not much different from the previous one we'd met in last time. The only difference was the beige décor that bled from every surface in the room, swallowing up what little possessions Chic had within it. The air was stuffy, reeking of old cigarettes and whiskey once again.

Chic noticed my sour expression and grinned. "I've been smoking more. Stress, you know?"

I smiled tightly and gazed at the moth-eaten carpet to the cracks in the plastered ceiling, dotted with old water marks. "It's uhh... Nice."

"It's crap," he said flatly. "But as crappy as it is, these sorts of people tend to look out for each other. If there was any trouble, I'd know about it and have a chance to get away." He flung his hoody on the bed, revealing a grey creased shirt.

"You still think he's after you then?"

"He'll definitely still be pissed at me, yes. Haven't you noticed that things have gotten eerily quiet? I think he's laying low after the article I wrote. It's still circulating heavily online."

I bit my lip and stared at the yellowed blinds on the window above the bed, drawn tightly. I was still hovering by the door standing awkwardly with bag in hand. "Why don't you get out of here and go further afield?"

"Why don't you?" He challenged quietly. "I have my own reasons to be in the area. I just didn't expect to be caught up in all of this!" Flailing his arms up, he sank down on the edge of the bed clasped his hands together, legs jittering.

I sank into a nearby chair, silently glad that the material of my coat was thick enough to forget about the questionable seat state underneath me. "He needs to be stopped."

"That I agree with," he smiled grimly. "Luckily I'm a scum of a journalist from a bad city, so I know how to get answers from people who don't want to give them." He took out a cigarette and flicked open a solid silver lighter from his pocket. My eyes danced over a small emblem on the side that I couldn't quite make out.

"What have you got for me anyway?" I smiled grimly.

He took a moment to light the cigarette, draw in a long breath and watch the smoke dance from his lips in twisted shapes. His eyes flickered to me. "I have a buddy who used to run with some pretty serious gangs in Mexico. A hacker. He's one of the only people I know that I can trust – he hacked into the police files for me at dear old Riverdale PD."

"You're an idiot," my eyes narrowed. "Are you crazy?"

He shrugged, looking somewhat bothered by the comment. "He's untraceable. If their system ever caught wind that he was there, his own system would automatically piggy back off another IP address in Arizona. To Spain. To England and so on. He'll be nothing but a mere shadow."

"Until he gets caught." I deadpanned.

"Then that's on him," Chic conceded. "Either way I gave him the option to help me – I didn't force the damn keyboard into his hands."

My own hands flew to my face as I tried to push away the idea of the FBI throwing themselves down onto our small town. They were freezing and the blue fingernails began to match with the rest of my skin.

"There's no heating," Chic said apologetically. "Part of one of the reasons that I need to get out of this damn hovel."

I breathed slowly, letting the breaths calm me. Somewhere, Bad Betty must have quietly slipped away and been replaced with my anxious, neurotic old self. "What did you guys find?"

He moved forwards on the bed, arms resting on the sides. "My buddy pulled up some imagery from the CCTV in the diner… That morning." He rose to his feet and moved across the room and pulled out a manila folder from one of the cabinet drawers. Wordlessly, he crossed the room and tossed it over to me.

I could have honestly burst our laughing at the sheer irony of the manila folder in my hands – it was like something straight out of a spy movie. Opening it, various A3 blown up photographs were inside.

It was the diner alright. Even through the speckled and slight distortion of the screen captures of CCTV footage; it was too easy to make out the neon lights glistening against the darkened interior – mirrored by the morning sunlight pooling through the windows. I could make out a huddled figure in one of our usual booths – Fred Andrews. He was hunched over the table, nursing a cup of liquid and staring downwards. The photograph was too pixelated to try and make out the expression on his face, but his body language more than told me enough – he had something on his mind.

I flipped through the series of photos to see Archie appearing in the doorway with a peaceful look on his face. I watched the screen captures of the two Andrews's greeting each other, before Archie disappeared off camera to go to the bathroom. At once, the next frame showed Fred move back into his hunched spot within the booth. In the next shot – he'd been staring intently at something across the diner.

Hands shaking, I moved through the images where the murderer stepped through the door and waved his gun around at Pop. I saw Fred move from his seat to standing in the next frame – hands in the air. There was a flash of red across the screen and the blurred movement of Archie rushing forwards to protect his father. In the next shot; Fred was already laying motionless on the floor in a dark pool.

I tried to refocus my eyes to work – but they grew misty and I sniffed. Blotches of tears dripped directly onto the photo paper – directly onto Fred's frozen state.

Across the room, Chic stood against the closed blinds with his hands in his pockets. He finished his cigarette and flicked it into an old ashtray by the bed. He coughed. "I'm sorry to have to show you those – I know that you knew him."

"What am I supposed to be looking at here?" I cleared my throat and swallowed down the rising nausea. I doubted that I would ever get the image of Fred laying on the diner floor – out of my head. I suddenly understood exactly why Archie derailed for those long, dark months.

Chic was already standing next to me. He carefully leaned down and plucked one of the last images out of the batch and brought it to the forefront, extending his finger and pointed down to the page. Wiping my eyes roughly, I squinted to see that he was pointing to a blurred image of the killer leaving the diner. It took a few moments to figure out exactly what he wanted me to see; but I got it in the end.

"On his belt, what can you recognise?" He muttered.

My heart thumped against my chest as I stared down at the shape of the pixels before me.

"It's a snake."


	13. 13 - Jughead

**Chp. 13 – Jughead.**

"I'm going away this weekend." I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my voice as I stared across the breakfast bar at the hungover woman, slumped in her stool. She'd come home in the early hours of the morning and unwillingly crashed into every surface in the house as I lay awake in bed for most of the night. Blearily, she blinked and tried to focus on me.

"Jughead," she smiled softly. "Good morning, my favourite Forsythe."

I winced. "Please… Don't call me that."

"Oh hey – Forsythe's awake!" Daniel slammed into the kitchen behind me like an exploding firework and clapped my shoulder roughly, clanking against my bag. He took one look at his mother's sorry state and wrinkled his nose. "God woman, you look like shi-…" 

"Long night." She waved her hand by way of explanation. With raised eyebrows, Daniel shot me a sarcastic look and effortlessly moved around his mother to access the freshly brewed coffee pot. He gestured to my cup on the side, but I shook my head.

"So where are you going?" Mrs. Matthews had the same amount of enthusiasm to match in her tone. She yawned heavily and pushed the wavy hair back from her face.

"My friend's folks have an old lake house," I didn't miss a beat and shrugged nonchalantly. "Just a friendly get together with some people I used to go to school with."

"No snakes?" She narrowed her eyes.

"No snakes in sight," I confirmed. "It'll be a pretty casual thing. I might even get some writing done, you know?" 

She nodded slowly, barely listening. Daniel sighed and slid a cup of hot coffee towards her and she took it gratefully in her hands, gazing up at him as if he were God himself.

"Still waiting on Cheryl's number, bro." Daniel winked and took a long sip of his coffee. He helped himself to his mother's untouched toast.

"You'll be waiting a while." I warned and swung my bag over my shoulders. Saying a hurried goodbye to the two-part family, I skirted out of the street pretty quickly and headed in the direction of Cherub Trailer Park.

As soon as I was out of their sight, my mouth downturned and I stared at my feet as I walked, trusting they would take me where I needed to go. The last however many weeks at school had flown by in the blur of conversations I didn't care about and faces I didn't bother to remember.

School, Serpents and sleep. It was my routine. As far as I was concerned; my life was one long nightmare that just wouldn't end.

There would be no lake house, no friends, no party.

Just Jughead Jones. Alone once more.

Slipping the key into the trailer door, I inhaled the sweet scent of home and slung my bag across the room. Being in my tiny tin heaven, I was accepted for who I was and not judged for my mistakes, my failures.

I caught sight of the camera Betty had bought me for Christmas, sitting proudly on the shelf. I winced for the second time that morning. This time, more painful.

I turned on the television to drown out the deafening silence of nothingness. Falling back onto the old sunken sofa, I blankly stared into the corner of the room. There would be no point in checking my phone. There would be no point in checking for missed calls or texts - I already knew there would be none.

Back at square one, I was nine years old all over again and completely friendless.

A few weeks ago, I had experienced a particularly dark period and had broken down from the silence in the void. In a moment of pure desperation, I tried calling Archie's phone and died inside as it went straight to voicemail. I tried his home number and Mary answered.

"Archie, please." I had whispered into the line, my back against the kitchen cupboards. I didn't have the strength to explain any further. An age passed by before she breathed slowly into the phone and made a small noise.

"I'm sorry Jug," she had said, full of sympathy. "Archie doesn't want to talk right now." 

Not even wanting to continue down a pointless path, I had hung up the phone and pulled my legs into my chest; hugging them as I used to when I was a child. I was unsure how long I stayed shaking on the kitchen floor as my life literally imploded before my very eyes.

Weeks later, nothing had much changed.

Most importantly; my heart ached for my blonde-haired angel. An empty throbbing, sickening feeling filled the void. We hadn't spoken since she fled from the trailer weeks ago. True to my word, I understood her reasons and chose not to make the situation any more difficult, to try and contact her. I knew that even though I was in pain; it was completely worth it to see her happy and free one day.

"What's wrong?" My father had asked earlier in the week when I went to visit him. "Every time I see you, you get more and more pale, boy." I didn't miss the worry in his eyes.

"Got a lot in my mind. Most importantly, I'm wondering how crap the prison food will be." I cracked a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. He caught it too. FP Jones was no moron and hadn't built a notorious gang for nothing.

It didn't even matter anyway.

The wall phone began to scream out, bringing me out of my zombie like state. I moved off the sofa and crossed the room.

"Jones." I muttered, pushing the speaker to my ear. The line crackled momentarily and there was a sudden sigh of relief on the other side.

"Jughead," the voice greeted. "It's good to hear your voice." 

"I literally came to see you a few days ago, Dad." The sound of his gruff voice made the emptiness of the trailer seem to much more bearable. It was easy to close my eyes and imagine that he was out of town on business – like a stereotypical career parent checking in on his son.

"Yeah? It feels like forever in here, Jug. Listen – I'm just calling to update you. They've got a date for the trial." He trailed off, perhaps having more to say but not quite finding the words. An uneasy silence fell between us. I could hear how laboured his breathing was. I was glad we were freaking out together.

I gripped the phone tighter until the plastic strained in my hand, mouth set into a hard line. I tried to conjure up some words of wisdom and positivity that Betty would have easily injected in this situation.

"When is it? I'll have the butler press my suit." 

He chuckled. "Buy a new one you cheapskate. It's in two weeks – March 2nd. Mary came to see me today to start preparing the finer details of the case. Apparently, it'll move pretty quickly now and I should have a verdict in quick order." His breath hitched along with his words. "Suits me just fine – I hate waiting." 

"Well then, prison's going to love you." I murmured, feeling the twinging at the corners of my eyes. He chuckled again; humour was all he had left by this point.

"You uh… Need to work something out long-term Jug. With the reasoning behind helping to cover up Jason Blossom, Mary expects a reduced sentence. But I still won't be getting out anytime soon. Are your Mom and Jellybean coming home?" 

I swallowed hard. "I left messages. I don't know. Maybe."

Even over the line, I could hear the silent sounds of my father deflating as he digested the information. It killed me, knowing I was hopeless to help.

"She'll come around. Eventually. She always does." I tried.

"I screwed up big time, Jughead," he croaked quietly. "I was an idiot kid. Lost Alice and got caught up in all of the drama I started. Then, I lost your mother and my little girl. How long until I lose my son too?" He sniffed roughly.

"I'm with you Dad, no matter what. You may have made some mistakes in the past – but ultimately you did what Clifford Blossom wanted, to protect me." He wasn't perfect by any means, but he was all I had right now.

Dad inhaled sharply. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be running to the gang for help. There'd be no Serpents." 

"And Fred Andrews would still have died. You and Alice might have stayed together – but none of the Cooper or Jones spawn would be here today. No Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third. Can you imagine?" 

"I can't imagine the town without that whirlwind girlfriend of yours," he chuckled. "Whatever is going on between you two, you'll work it out. Don't make the same mistakes I did with Alice, alright kid?" 

I smiled, tight lipped – determined not to drag the Betty topic on any further. Even hearing her name spoken aloud, sent sandpaper covered razorblades into my chest.

"I'll see you at the courthouse on the 2nd, Dad." 

"Good kid. I'll be the one wearing orange." 

"What? I thought this was a black and white stripes, kind of deal." 

"See you Jug." He murmured, emotion wavering over his voice once more. I felt like there was so much more that he wanted to be able to say but couldn't quite find the right words.

"Sure, Dad." I whispered just as the dialling tone kicked in.

The conversation stayed with me for the rest of the day, as I stumbled around my thoughts and tried to find some clarity in the fact that my father was a good man. Regardless of his meaning behind covering up Jason Blossom's murder; the likelihood of him getting free anytime soon, was zero.

I was at my all time low, level of desperation and willing to do anything. Leaving the comfort of the trailer behind, I grabbed my coat and started off at a brisk walk far beyond the confining borders of the Cherub trailer park and kept walking aimlessly. The wind had only just begun to pick up by the time my feet had found themselves planted just across the Northside border and in the shadows of the darkened Chock'Lit Shoppe.

I'd lost count a long time ago how many days I had gone without one of Pop's sweet coffees, nursing me through my endless hours hunched over my laptop in one of my usual booths. With a pang, I realised that I hadn't had the courage to come back here since the fateful day that Riverdale changed forever.

Seeing movement inside one of the tinted windows, I stepped across the barren car park and peered inside the gloom of the interior. The movement I discovered – came from a middle-aged man in an old grey suit. I watched as he bustled to and fro behind the counter, gathering various items together. Before I could let the fear of the unknown grip me, I pushed the door open to the sound of the old tinkling bell.

There was a rustle of surprise and Pop's head appeared from below the cash register. His face took a few moments to realise that I wasn't a newspaper reporter or a kid looking to trash the place. At once, his features relaxed and was replaced by his old warm smile.

"My, Jughead Jones," he greeted. "You're a sight for sore eyes." 

"Make that two." I quipped and shoved my hands in my pockets, scanning the dark Diner.

"I'm the only one here," Pop waved his hand over at the ghostly booths. "Folks get scared in here now. I don't blame you for being jumpy." 

I frowned and my feet shuffled uncertainly on the linoleum flooring. I couldn't help but wonder how hard Pop had to scrub to get the blood out.

"How are things, Pop?" 

As much as I could tell he wanted nothing more than to crack an old fatherly joke and beam in my direction. The lip movement didn't quite meet his eyes. The cracks in his skin had deepened over the months no one had seen him, giving the impression of an old carved pumpkin that had been left out long after Halloween.

He shrugged, the tired grey suit swamped him. "I still got my health, my family," he glanced around at the room and rested his palms on the marble counter as tenderly as an old girlfriend. "Lost my love though. My passion." He sniffed huskily and I averted my eyes half in respect, half in despair. The silence was loud and overbearing. It screamed through my skull.

"What are you doing here Pop? Someone mentioned months ago that you moved away?" Desperate for normality, I descended onto the edge of one of the cushioned stools.

"Wanted to. Alba and I took the kids over to Maryland for a little while to look at some houses – the Mrs has some family up there. There's quite a few properties that look good for a new business ventures." He winked.

"Hey – I'm all for more Pop's Franchises. I promise you that you won't find a Jughead in all of them though." 

"A little quiet kid sat in the corner on his own, tapping frantically away at his laptop," Pop pretended to think. "That's half of these kids that see in Starbucks nowadays!" 

"Ah" I smirked. "But not all of us are going to be very successful writers one day." 

"No," he allowed, features softening. "But I hope you manage to reach your dreams, kid." 

I nodded. "You too, Pop. Are you selling up the place for good?" It was the dreaded question that I never wanted an answer to. Pop paused, lips pursing. He busied himself with the coffee pot and grabbed a new cup ready for when it finished brewing. With his back to me and the sounds of the coffee machine, I barely heard the "Yes." 

I breathed out and stretched my arms across the counter. A few minutes later, Pop had poured two fresh cups of coffee and slid the first towards me. He sank down into his own personal stool behind the cash register.

"What do you think it'll become?" I ventured. I couldn't ever imagine the tiny little building on the Riverdale North and South border, ever disappearing into nothingness.

"Maybe they'll knock it down and build houses? Hopefully not one of those trendy clothing chains that all the kids talk about. This old place deserves a better end." He quipped and took a long sip of coffee with more emotion than he wanted to let on.

"Well, if I had copious amounts of money and any ideas on how to run a business – I'd keep it just the same." I grinned.

He beamed in return. Like an old father looking upon his now grown up son. "Thanks Jughead, I appreciate that." 

The day gradually grew warmer as the afternoon arrived with the wind thankfully dying down to a mere gust. In the distance, grey clouds were beginning to form as part of the forecasted heavy showers – I'd planned to be holed up thankfully in the trailer by that point.

Even in the Serpent garage, the air was heavy with the scent of the oncoming rain mixed with engine oil and automotive lubricant. I breathed out slowly, wiping my head with my shirt. The sweat clung to the skin in beads and made it difficult to concentrate when I slid myself under the motorcycle engine.

Of course it wasn't the only thing on my mind; but it damn well did a great job of distracting me.

The double doors at the back wall swung open to reveal Rex carrying a lumpy duffel bag that must have been heavy enough to cause his muscles to bulge out from under his flannel shirt. He wound slowly around the various piles of parts and machinery and made his way over to me. Throwing down the bag that protested on the floor with an audible slapping sound, he breathed out slowly and nodded towards my own motorcycle.

"Cayden wasn't joking huh?" 

"Nothing that a lot of spare time and elbow grease won't fix." I muttered and patted the weathered leather seat fondly. Rex nodded and leaned back again the tool trolley.

"Does it run?" 

"Zero to sixty in about four seconds I reckon… Or that's what it will be able to do, when I'm done anyway. The ignition has its moments." 

Rex smiled softly and thumbed his ginger and grey beard. "I'm rooting for you kid – so I'm going to need you to win for the sake of the 50 buck bet, I have with Cayden." 

"I'll make you a rich man," I was confident. "You need help dumping the body?" I nodded towards the large duffel bag at his feet. At once, his expression fell slightly, and he glanced quickly around the empty workshop. Wordlessly, he leaned down to tug on the zip and pulled it halfway across the top. Inside, the bag was crammed to the brim with neatly taped packages.

I blanched and felt the blood leave my face. "Are you kidding me Rex? I thought the Serpents didn't deal in the harcore shi-.."

"Of course they don't," he spoke above me in a level voice. "When your Dad was in charge, it wasn't the hard stuff – believe me. I'm as about as disturbed as you are." His lips formed a hard line and for the first time, I caught the edge to his voice.

"Dust?" I said quietly.

"Dust," he confirmed. "He's organised a drop off at several locations around the town for new potential customers. He's got this big scheme to stamp out the competition in the region." 

"He wants to be kingpin," I spat quietly. "Sat on top of his throne of snakes." 

Rex nodded curtly and folded his arms. "My assigned contact is supposed to be meeting me outside Sunnyside Elementary school for the pickup…" He trailed off, looking paler than he did when he first entered the room. For such a big, world weary guy – it was disconcerting to see him frazzled.

"He's disgusting. The worst kind of person." I hissed.

Rex nodded once again and his whole body sagged into the weight on his arms on the tool trolley. "Do you see why we had our initial conversation, little Jones?" 

How could I forget? My first initial meeting with the Serpents on my own, was to be taken through my initiation into the brotherhood. It was also the exact moment that Rex had decided along with Cayden and Stigma – to then lumber me with the heavy knowledge that they knew the real reason of my wanting to join the Serpents. In return, they wanted to groom me to eventually become their leader and take down Dust altogether.

I mentally added it to the growing list of worries on my mind.

"My father's trial is on the 2nd," I suddenly blurted. "I know it would mean a lot to him if some of the guys came along." 

The corner of Rex's eyes crinkled with the sentiment, but he turned his eyes to the floor and shook his head slowly, his shoulder length hair moving along with the moment. "I wish we could kid but… The cops won't tolerate us there." 

"Not as Serpents – but friends-…" 

"… We're still all tarred with the same brush," he said gently. "Keller and his department have made it perfectly clear that they intend to cause as much trouble for us as possible. Somehow I don't think turning up at FP's trial will do him any favours."

I couldn't find the strength to argue with his logic. As much as I wanted to show a supported front to my father, Rex as usual – had a point.

I fell silent as he watched me carefully, wrestling with my thoughts. He finally opened his mouth to say something – but was interrupted by shouts and cries coming from the bar. Without another word between us, I flew across the workshop behind Rex's bulky frame and he dived through the double doors into chaos.

The bar was filled to the brim with various Serpents milling around – some of which were locals I saw every evening and some of which I'd never seen the likes of before. Everyone seemed to be speaking at once, no one quite knowing what was going on or where the source of the shouts originally came from.

"What the hell is going on?" I raised my voice above the rabble and threw my head towards a puzzled Rex.

"Dust called a meeting for this afternoon for all members." He muttered. I watched as his face sank and his mouth opened slightly – eyes fixated on the wooden doors of the entrance in which the crowd seemed to be milling thicker there. He began to firmly push the members aside and wade over to where the commotion seemed to be the most. I wasn't a fan of crowds – but the aura of unease in anger in the air felt toxic.

"Move!" Someone commanded in the thick of the array in a heavy southern American accent. Turning towards where Rex had disappeared into, I caught sight of a stricken-looking Stigma, dragging a bloodied and motionless Cayden across the room. A flurry of hands surged towards her and helped to drag Cayden onto the old pool table. As the bodies swayed around me, I caught sight of the deep gunshot wound in the side of his abdomen.

Stigma flew to his side, grabbing his hand and threatening that he shouldn't dare close his eyes or she would punch the crap out of him. Her piercing gaze scanned the faces before her. "Well – don't just stand there – someone get me some damn bandages and a medical kit!" At once, there was a flurry of movement. Rex appeared behind the girl and cut Cayden's jacket and shirt away from the wound. His groans were louder than that of the crowd.

"What the hell happened?" He boomed.

Stigma's dark head shook roughly, eyes narrowing. "I found him crawling down the street like this… I think he has been shot. I did not see anyone nearby.

Frozen in place, all I could do was stand uselessly and stare at the scene that unfolded before me. It was difficult to drown out the angry conversations around me as the Serpents darkly speculated who could have injured their own. I was marooned on my own and anchored by my own fear.

The scene faded away and suddenly I was a young boy staring over the bridge at the watery depths below. I remembered my heart hammering softly as I really tried to imagine what I was about to do and how it might affect those around me. With a pang, I didn't think it would have much of an impact at all. No one would miss me.

That was before Fred found me.

"I'm scared of living." I admitted for the first time that day. For the first time, even to myself, I thought. Fred nodded understandingly.

"Living is scary," he conceded. "And I'm sorry you feel that way – no one should be made to feel unwanted and unloved. It was the most fatherly thing anyone had ever said to me.

"Then what's the point of this?" My childish self-sighed. The questions of our existence and the universe were simply too big for me to grasp. I wanted to hide forever in my dark abyss and never come back.

"Well that's part of the journey isn't it?" Fred shrugged. "We're here to live the best lives we can and achieve whatever dreams we want to. Sometimes it's bound to be scary – but we've all got our parts to play. Even you Jughead. Sometimes we just need a little bravery to get us through our days. It reminds us what this is all about." He gestured across the bridge and instead of gazing down, I allowed myself to look past the rushing river below and gazed across at the muted colours of the sunset on the horizon.

The memory faded away as quickly as it appeared. My body jumped into action before my brain could catch up and I crossed the room to the pool table in a few quick strides. Stigma and Rex glanced up briefly at me and she snatched the medical kit from someone who'd fetched it from behind the bar.

Pushing aside the material that Rex had cut away from the wound, it was still difficult to see how deep the gash itself was and if the bullet had hit any important organs. Summoning every ounce of knowledge from the human body that my glowing education had taught me, my mind reeled with the several options and consequences we were facing.

"He needs a hospital," Stigma growled and cupped his face with her bloodied hands. "Cayden – you stay awake. You hear?"

"I don't think his organs have been ruptured," I muttered and peered into the crimson as best as I could. "The blood would be darker and not as oxygenated."

"No…. Cops… Questions…" Cayden breathed, eyes bulging. Stigma blinked slowly, looking as if she was wrestling with the idea of knocking him out cold or risking him never regaining consciousness again. As much as I agreed that he needed professional medical care – I imagined Keller would love nothing more than to spin a story to portray Cayden's injury as a result of self defence from an upstanding north-sider.

Either way, we needed to do something. Soon.

"Hold him down!" I commanded at a Serpent girl who hovered nearby. She hesitated for a split second before trusting my confidence and rushing forwards to pin down his left arm. Some of the other member's followed suit and between a group of us – we'd had Cayden safety pinned to the pool table, writhing in pain beneath us and he cursed each of our families.

"We can't just hold him like this!" Someone announced in exasperation. Glancing up at the source of the sound, Joaquin stared back at me from across the pool table, having entered the bar silently. The corners of his eyes crinkled in anguish as he averted his eyes from his fallen friend.

"No," I agreed calmly and glanced into Cayden's paling eyes. "We can't." Someone thrusted the medical kit in my face. Seizing it, I lined out the items next to Cayden – mind reeling.

It was such a surreal experience. I was casting my mind back through almost eighteen years of crime documentaries, films and dramas – trying to find any hints of information that would be helpful. Rex must have sensed my panic and he leaned forward to clap his hand on my shoulder. His eyes were clear: You can do this.

Breathe, Jughead. Breath. I glanced down at Cayden once again. His movements were becoming sluggish and slower.

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the bottle of antiseptic from the case and soaked a handful of gauze with the foul-smelling liquid. I hesitated.

"This is going to hurt." I said grimly. Cayden's eyes fluttered open to stare at me in horror. Stigma took the opportunity to pin him more forcefully to the table – as did the other Serpents with their designated limbs.

Before I lost my nerve, I pressed the cold gauze to the wound and tried to desperately dim out the sounds of Cayden's cries as the solution burned into the flesh. He tried to writhe and flick his arms and legs from their hold, but failed to get free.

"You'll thank us later." Rex affirmed. Cayden swore and glared.

With the gauze soaked in blood, I was able to peer into the wound more clearly and with a breath of relief, I realised it wasn't as deep as it looked.

"Is the bullet lodged Jughead?" Rex took the gauze and began to dab at the skin around the reddened entrance to prevent any possibility of infection. I waited for him to move his arm back and took another deep look before the small crater filled with blood again.

"I think we're lucky," I muttered. "It doesn't look like a whole bullet. There's a couple of dark shards I think. They're embedded. Where he's been moving around, they've torn the surrounding flesh and made the wound worse though."

"That's good enough for me," Rex murmured and leaned over toward Cayden's face. "Did you hear that boy? You're probably going to live." 

Stigma hissed, eyes flashing. "You should not say that, Rex. He is not out of danger's path yet." She moved her tattooed hand over Cayden's chest protectively. Rex raised his hands in surrender. 

"We'll need to get these shards out. They aren't deep enough to have hit any arteries or organs," my fingers stumbled around the medical kit, reaching for the tweezers and covering everything in bloody fingerprints.

Around our morbid pool table gathering, the rest of the Serpent crowd had died down – their suspicious murmurings only half reaching my ears. Ignoring Cayden's cries, Rex and I settled into a quick pattern of 'dab and grab' – I gently began to ease out the bullet shards as Rex cleaned and eased the ebbing blood flow. Stigma and Joaquin muttered words of encouragement to Cayden as he winced and clenched his teeth with every passing moment. Beads of sweat clung to the back of my naked hair. I shook with unspoken anxiety.

After a painful period of time had passed, I peered into the wound and found no more evidence of leftover shards from the missed bullet. With the blood flow also filling the space at the slower rate, I was confident enough that we were out of immediate danger for now. Seizing the spool of absorbable suture and a needle, I swallowed down my rising fear and began to pull the material through the skin and clumsily pull the wound back together. Cayden was kind enough to not scream and blow my fragile concentration while I worked.

Breath, Jughead. Calm.

Having no idea how much time has passed and how long we'd been leaning over the pool table for, I finally retracted the bloodied tweezers and needle, and tossed it onto the green felt. My fists clenched into balls in an effort to stop the cramps. Seeing that we were finished, the Serpents around us seemed to breathe a huge sigh of relief and the atmosphere in the room brightened a little.

"All done." I breathed, leaning forwards on my hands. Relief swept over me in waves of bliss. Rex's face smoothed over from his silent contortions and he shared a small smile with Stigma. Joaquin closed his eyes and released his hands from Cayden, along with the others helping to pin him down.

"How do you feel?" I pressed. Cayden breathed slowly, deeply. His eyes found mine and even in his sorry state, he still found the energy left to shoot me a grin.

"It will take time to heal, cowboy." Rex said slowly and lightly jabbed a finger against the young man's abdomen. He winced and swore under his breath. I couldn't help but beam down at him, secretly chuffed.

Rex gazed at me as if he saw the leader he'd been hoping for in me, for the very first time.

Cayden was about to open his mouth to retort, when the sound of slow clapping filled the room and reverberated around the wooden panelled walls.

My head snapped towards the stairs to see Dust had appeared from his office. He surveyed the scene below, leaning over the winding stairs, smacking his hands together. The room almost darkened. I could see his sly smile shining across the room as his beady eyes devoured the situation. His lips parted to reveal his teeth.

I wondered how long he'd been staring at the scenario from his dark tower.

"Very good Mr. Jones," he announced with an air of showmanship. "Without your heroics. The situation could have been so much worse." He began to descend the stairs with a predator-like grace. Every eye in the room, was on him. The darkened shadows of the bar snaked across his face and distorted the aged features.

I shrugged, embarrassed. "I only did what anyone would do really…" 

He wagged his finger from side to side, chuckling deeply. "But yet you stepped up." Coming to a halt in the middle of the stairs, he turned his body to address the rest of the room, holding up his arms like a dictator, gazing down at his country.

"The enemy, once again shows their strength." Dust drawled and moved his gaze across every face in the room, resting on mine. "How much longer are we going to sit by and just let them walk all over us?" He furrowed his brow confusion as the bodies around me murmured and nodded in agreement – still spooked from what they'd witnessed. Beside me, Rex bustled from side to side, his eyes never leaving Dust's face. He was deeply troubled.

"They need to be taught a lesson, before anyone else is shot – or worse," Dust continued dramatically. "The Northsiders. The Cops. Anyone who dares to stand against us. All of them. We need to make a move."


	14. 14 - Betty

**Chp. 14 – Betty.**

"You need to start writing again," Chic had encouraged me and stabbed a finger to the photos. "You see what that street gang has done? Murder in cold blood." He had recoiled away from the gore of the screen captures and rifled through the drawer for another packet of cigarettes. He looked about as disgusted as I felt.

My stomach lurched unpleasantly, and I made a quick stop to pull over on the side of the road. I barely got out of the station wagon in time, before I fell onto my knees and heaved the entire contents of my stomach up onto the grassy verge. After several painstaking heaves, I wiped my mouth onto my hands and rubbed them hard on the green undergrowth of the bushes. My hands were covered in soil, but I didn't care.

How did Archie feel, covered in his own father's blood?

I sobbed and dry heaved for about twenty minutes before I had the will to pull myself back into the car and collapse against the steering wheel. In truth, I was in no state to drive – but who else was I going to call, and how would I explain the situation?

"Expose them all," Chic had gritted his teeth. "I've been sitting on these photos for days. I'm just glad I could finally show them to someone." He had looked so shaken up to his very core. I lost count of how many cigarettes he'd gone through.

"But Jughead…" I began. "He must not know-…" 

Chic whirled around to face me, expression hard. "Perhaps he already knows. Maybe he's protecting someone."

I breathed hard against the cool surface of the steering wheel. My mind wandered back to the night outside the Wyrm. Jughead had looked so freaked out about his two worlds colliding – but maybe it wasn't for the reasons I initially thought.

Maybe we were getting too close to the truth.

"No." I spat aloud. I knew Jughead Jones more than any other person in the world – there was no way that he would protect such a taboo secret. Especially when his very reason for embarking on his crazy quest, was to avenge the very man that taught him how to enjoy life again. He would rather die on his sword, than betray the Andrews'.

It was enough of a calm train of thought to enable me to hit the accelerator and begin crawling back down the road again. Thankfully, the route stayed mostly quiet so the probability of someone reporting a distressed looking driver – would be minimal.

I was being reckless and barely concentrated on the roads that stretched out ahead of me. I could feel Bad Betty clambering up the put of my stomach – desperately trying to take hold of me in an attempt not to feel. But I was too broken, too emotional to shut out my feelings.

Before long, I pulled into my driveway too quickly and ended up slamming the bumper against the garage door. I gritted my teeth against the sound of metal against metal and flew out of the driver's door, leaving it open to check the damage.

A horizontal dent in the door greeted me as I swore under my breath and my hips flew to my side. The left headlight was also slightly broken. I'd need to fix that before my parents returned home.

"Jesus Betts, are you okay?"

My heart completely froze in place after hearing that voice. My muscles refused to move, but I forced them around on the spot to meet the figure at the side of the road, on an old motorbike.

It was him all right, not that I needed the visual to confirm this – or my famed Nancy Drew skills. Like magic, as soon as my eyes found his – Dark Betty was confined within her depths once more.

We hadn't seen each other in a good number of weeks, but he still looked exactly the same. The bags under his concerned eyes were darker than normal. Maybe he'd gotten a little skinnier. As soon as I had turned around, he heaved himself off the motorbike and rushed forwards to me.

Immediately I fell wordlessly into his chest and our arms became tangled like a pair of sad octopi. We stayed like this for a little while and he pulled away first, eyes moving up to my forehead. A worried look crossed his face.

"You're bleeding." he muttered and flecked his thumb across the throbbing patch on my forehead and I winced like a little girl. 

"I'm not the only one." I said pointedly and jabbed him in the chest. He glanced down at his bloodied arms and hands and said nothing. He shook slightly under his jacket and I got a feeling it wasn't from the chill in the air. "Jughead, what's happening here?" I murmured.

"Not here – inside." He said firmly, taking my shoulder and beginning to lead me towards my own front door. I frowned, noticing the looks he threw over his shoulders as we walked.

"You're scaring me." I admitted as soon as he closed my bedroom door behind me with a curt click. I watched as he crossed the room to the windows and pulled the curtains shut. We stood awkwardly in semi-darkness.

"I'm sorry," he broke the silence first. "I'll explain everything." 

"You can start with the blood," I pushed. "First, you better go clean yourself up." I gestured to my ensuite bathroom and he nodded. He slipped through the door and closed it quietly behind him, leaving me in silence.

I ran my fingers through my hair, suddenly exhausted and threw myself onto the bed. I let a few tears of confusion leave my eyes – glad that Jughead couldn't hear my sniffing through the sounds of the running water in the next room.

He was here. Jughead was here.

I wanted to keep crying and yell with undiluted excitement at the same time. For days, I'd been simply _existing_ and trying to find some kind of meaning in this all. It wasn't until I saw him that I'd made up my mind; I'd made a mistake.

Chic was wrong. No way would Jughead be protecting the killer.

I opened my eyes to stare at the darkened ceiling – but found myself staring into concerned orbs. I flinched, and he moved quickly backwards.

"You fell asleep. I was checking to see if you were still breathing after your grand theft auto." He smiled coyly. I noticed that he'd peeled off his bloodied clothes and left them in a neat pile in the corner. My eyes moved down to see if he'd helped himself to one of my soft pink towels that settled neatly around his waist.

"Eyes up," he said gently. "Does your Dad have any old clothes? Mine are ruined."

"And here I thought Jughead Jones was here to see me? Instead he's looking for a free shower and some new threads." I teased with a smirk that was more confident than I felt. Jughead visibly swallowed.

"I came hear to see you first and foremost… The free shower was a bonus." His eyes fell upon the piles of my old clothes in the corners of the room. Wisely, he said nothing.

Sliding off the bed, I crossed the room and grabbed the third drawer of my dresser. Scrabbling around under my diary for a few moments, I pulled out a few items of clothing and held them out to him.

"They're yours. You left them here last time." I muttered. I'd included the old grey 'S' shirt I wore to bed occasionally. He stepped forwards with a pained expression and grabbed them. We both jumped as our hands grazed. Electricity passed between us in a split second.

On the upside, he was as triggered as I was. I could see his heart strings pulling at his expression as the seconds ticked by and we continued to stand, hands connected. Unsure of what to do next.

Before the tortured on his face could deepen any further, I leaned forwards to press my lips against his, instantly feeling him melt against me, becoming like butter in my arms. He deepened the kiss to which I hungrily obliged and allowed him to slip the jacket off my shoulders.

He wound his arm around my waist whilst the other flew to the middle of my back, pressing me against him until we moved like one entity. My skin was alive with electricity. Mr fingers danced between the strands of his raven hair as the beanie was pulled off and tossed in a dark corner of the room. He sure as heck didn't mind.

My heart beat increased tenfold as he moved away from my lips and traced them across my jawline, to my neck and shoulders.

He groaned. "Betty-…"

"No," I whispered and pressed a finger to his lips. "It's just us right now. Nothing else." Biting my lip, he returned to my shoulders to continue on with his teasing. I shivered.

"I need to... Tell you… Something…" But his whispers fell on deaf ears. I was long gone, replaced with my darker persona, I was still his golden headed angel. Even when he talked, the smouldering look in his eyes told me that talking was the absolute last thing on his mind currently.

Giving in to his own desires, he groaned and moaned my name softly against my neck. My fingers danced against the rim of the towel around his waist and gently tugged, it pooled at our feet. He backed me up against the bathroom door – I shivered at the cold texture of the wood and involuntarily bucked into him – to his delight. After the few clothing items I had on left were removed, we made love against the door again and again until we were exhausted and drenched in sweat.

I slept like the dead that night and I loved every blissful moment of slowly regaining consciousness of my own accord, no nightmares.

My eyes fluttered open to the sounds of birds chirping outside. Beams of light were cascading through the curtains and snaking across the floor to form pretty patterns on the old cream carpet. It was the warmest it had felt in months.

Jughead and I were sprawled across each other naked on the floor. At some point during our evening's activities, he'd tugged the sheets off my bed and draped them over our bodies – should my parents or Polly decide to pop in for a chat. I watched him sleep for a while and took comfort in the peacefulness of his chest rising and falling with the sound of his heart. My fingers couldn't help but trace his chest muscles down to his abdomen and sharp hip bones. I resisted the urge to move them down any further.

"I love you, Jughead Jones." I kissed his forehead and murmured against his scalp. I felt my cheeks blush slightly.

"I love you, Betts." He retorted suddenly, eyes flying open. "Don't look at me like that – I've been awake for a while." His lips formed the most beautiful smile, half drenched in sunlight from the window. 

I prodded his chest. "So you've been watching _me_ sleep?" I teased.

"Always do, it chills me out somehow," was the reply. "It's been ages since I've felt chilled out…" He trailed off and we broke eye contact, no doubt thinking about the awful weeks apart. I sighed and rose into a seating position, pulling the sheets modestly over me. My naked back felt chilly against the morning air of the bedroom. 

"We need to talk." I said.

"A guy's favourite words." He quipped, voice suddenly nervous at the prospect of this conversation as opposed to rolling around totally naked with me. He also moved upwards to sit facing me. Our naked toes touched lightly on one another.

I breathed deeply, I needed to take charge for once. I needed to swallow down that darker side of me, so she wouldn't threaten to take over again.

"First of all – I just wanted to say how deeply sorry I am, for abandoning you all those weeks ago… Now I realise just how much you needed me and well… I screwed up," he held up his hand and shook his head, but I pushed on before he could interrupt me. "It was the absolutely worst thing I've ever done, Juggie…" My voice cracked. I could feel my eyes being to fill up at the sides, but I was determined not to let them fall. I was stronger than before, if nothing else.

Jughead nodded slowly and slipped his fingers through mine, resting our hands on our laps. "I think this is the beginning of the end," he whispered. "The South side and North side are about to clash and we're all going to be swallowed up by it. _That's_ why I came here yesterday. I needed to see you, warn you," he blushed and glanced down at the bedsheets. "It wasn't until I saw you, just how much I realised that I was being selfish and conceited. You needed me, just as much as I needed you. I ignored you for a stupid vendetta that I watched consume Archie-…"

"That was different." I insisted.

"It wasn't," he said evenly, not meeting my eyes. "Our reasons were the same and methods were different – but it was still the same thing, whether I like it or not. He threw himself headfirst into rage and alcohol. I threw myself into the Serpents civil war and a crazy quest." My eyes fell upon his long-healed forearm. The snake gazed back at me with piercing emerald eyes. He looked so disappointed with himself, so broken that I leaned forward and rested my hands on his cheeks and forced him to look at me. I wasn't the only one with shining eyes.

"I've been going out to bars and clubs," I admitted slowly. "On most nights. Since we broke up, I've been kind of floating around and existing. I let my dark side take over and put myself into positions I would normally stay far away from," I paused to give him a chance to look disgusted and react. But he didn't, so I continued. "Veronica and the others have been trying to stop me at every occasion they get – even Cheryl of all people! My point being, we have all done out of character things, since Fred Andrews died."

Jughead sighed and cracked a small smile. "Fred would look at us all now and just roll his eyes at all the drama." 

I giggled quietly. "Fred hated drama. I wonder what he would say?" 

"Probably something super sage like; 'teenagers must make mistakes to figure out who they really are'. Yeah, that sounds about right." He exhaled slowly. I wondered if he felt as unmoored as I did, deep down.

"You need to tell me everything that happened, since we've been apart." I pressed. The camera stills flashed in front of my eyes as I saw Fred's motionless body in the floor of the Diner. The blood that pooled around him. The horrified frozen face of Archie.

"I was going to last night anyway, before we got… Heavy," he nodded. "But you also have things you need to tell me too. I can tell from that look on your face." We locked eyes and his rose his eyebrows to accentuate his point.

"Yes, I do." I whispered. Fred's face appeared once more.

"Right," he decided. "I need to go back to the beginning. Back to when Rex and the others confided in me that they needed me to take on eventual leadership of the Serpents…." 

The chilly February morning swept through into the afternoon as I sat still, wide eyed and listened to Jughead Jones talk about the past couple of months. It was completely crazy. It was like something straight out of a television show – murder, betrayal and violence mixed in for good measure. He gushed animatedly, trying to convey every little detail he could before he lost his nerve and retreated inside himself.

Soon enough, he'd worn himself out and helped himself to the large glass of tepid water on my bedside table. We'd both moved up to the bed by this point and reluctantly climbed into our clothes, sitting crossed legged on the mattress and facing one another. Before I too lost my confidence, I began to tell him about my own experiences of our time apart – as we'd taken to calling it instead of 'break up'.

It was early afternoon by the time we were truly done and spent. We regarded each other with a comfortable silence and slowly digested the incredible amount of information. After all was said and done, our blissful morning happiness was replaced by a tangible uneasiness in the air. I shivered involuntarily.

"Something serious is going down here," he muttered. "Do you think somehow this is all connected?" 

"Between my Mom, Dust, Fred Andrews, Chic, Cayden and our secret murderer," I said incredulously. "I seriously doubt something could be so _complicated_ as connecting these dots."

"True. But Clifford Blossom murdered his own son to hold onto his drug empire, lied to his entire family, forced my father to become involved by threatening my life and suddenly killed himself when the truth was bursting to come out. Stranger things have happened and will continue to do so." 

I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. It was becoming a habit. "I just think that the evidence points to a series of unlucky events that happened at the same time. We're just incredibly screwed in this town!" I flapped my arms towards the ceiling in exasperation. It was Jughead this time who invaded his fingers through his hair.

"There are things happening that we can't even see," he said simply. "Maybe we should just… Continue on and see what happens. We're powerless to do anything else." 

"I'm not a fan of sitting idly by and playing a helpless victim." I deadpanned.

"We don't have a choice here, Betts," he said softly and danced my fingers between his own. "But we have trust and we have each other… You know for a fact that I don't know if any Serpent killed Fred Andrews." 

"If one of the gang didn't, someone is going to a lot of trouble to incriminate them." I said darkly. He nodded in sharp agreement, a troubled look on his face.

Unwillingly, Jughead and I had to part by the late afternoon. As much as I didn't want to admit it – it was probably for the best. We both had a lot to think about and we both agreed that things were only going to get darker in Riverdale.

"We're home!" Came the singsong voice form the entrance hall. A few moments later, my mother and father appeared in the doorway of the living room, laden with their bags from the short trip. I barely glanced over the top of my laptop to give them a quick nod in greeting. Polly sighed from the squashy armchair on the other side of the room.

"You won't get much out of Betty," she muttered and flicked though the pages of her glossy celebrity magazine. "She's had her head in that damn thing all evening." 

"Polly's just mad that I wouldn't get up to make her a drink." I muttered, eyes not daring to leave the screen of the word document that I was working on. Polly hissed under her breath in my direction, appeasing her late pregnancy hormones. Our parents looked between us both and wisely decided not to get involved in our domestic.

"What are you working on, dear?" Mom handed her bag to my father who shuffled their belongings upstairs. She helped herself to a large glass of wine from the alcohol cabinet and descended into the seat next to me.

"I'm writing up an article for the Blue and Gold." That much was the truth. The tricky bit was trying to put into words exactly what the going on in Riverdale was doing to its residents and how I could convey this into my writing. I would send it over to Jughead as soon as I was done to get his notes before we went live.

"You haven't written anything in a while." Mom took a long sip of her drink, trying to side eye my writing until I awkwardly moved my laptop away from prying eyes.

"Haven't found the right angle until now." I said carefully. Polly rolled her eyes across the room and retreated back into her pregnancy mood swing. She began to flick the pages a little more viciously and I couldn't help a small smile creep cross my face.

"Well I think it's great," Mom announced. "Perhaps it's time that we all find another new angle…" She trailed off with a strange smile. At the tone of her voice, even Polly had to glance up from the glossy pages of her magazine.

"What are you talking about, Mom?" Before our mother could open her mouth to retort, our father skulked into the room and helped himself to the squashy chair by the simmering fire, wad of enemy newspapers in hand – ready for his daily stalking of the competitor press.

"Ah Hal," she turned to him. "You're just in time, I'm about to tell the kids-…" 

"-… Tell the kids what?" Polly pressed.

Dad merely shrugged as if it wasn't really that big of a deal. "While your mother and I were away at our journalism conference, we couldn't help but notice just how beautiful the town was." 

"It's just ten miles out of Portland – a really beautiful picturesque little town. You'll get so much writing done there Betty! Poll will be able to raise the kids away from the city-…" Mom gushed, cheeks flushing slightly as she described every detail of our fakes lives.

"I'm not moving." I deadpanned.

"I'm with Betty, no way." Polly's magazine sank to the carpet, forgotten as she cradled her inflated stomach, glancing accusatory between our parents. "I can't believe you're even thinking about this – I'm days away from giving birth!"

"Not yet," mother smiled tightly. "When the babies are home and settled and you're okay of course dear – your father and I thought we could start looking at houses." She glanced over at him to reaffirm her point. He nodded enthusiastically.

"We are away from the city!" I scoffed. "We're already in a 'picturesque' little town."

"With murderers running lose." My father piped up over the top of his newspaper. Mom sat up in her seat a little stiffer.

"I'm pretty sure murderers aren't location specific," I muttered. "Besides – I have school, the Blue and Gold… and Jughead!" I tried hard not to let the betrayal leak onto my face at the thought of possibly losing my raven-haired love, again.

"They'll be other boys, other schools and other newspapers." Came the reply from behind the newspapers. It was clear that their minds had been made up as a result of many long conversations. Polly and I were just unwilling passengers along for the ride, expected to smile and play our parts in this apparent happy family.

I couldn't help but notice that my mother's smile was just a little bit too tight for her face and her bright eyes were just a little over the top. She looked about as happy about this decision as my sister and I did, no matter what crap she wanted to feed us about perfect little towns and starting again.

Starting again, I mused. It was running away.

"Is this about the note you guys received?" I hedged quietly. It didn't take a rocket scientist to work out that I was right. Both sets of eyes flew over to the cabinet drawer it was previously stuffed into and back to me again.

"What note?" She answered swiftly, breezily. Dad's newspaper ruffled slightly.

"Please don't play dumb with me. I found the scribbled note hidden away. _'I know what you did_ '." The air in the room fell pregnant for a few seconds. The mahogany clock ticked away loudly on the far side wall.

"It sounds as if," Mom began. "You're getting back into those detective stories again, huh? You must be mistaken. There was no such message." Dramatically, she rolled her eyes and went back to downing the glass of wine, brushing me off just like that. 


	15. 15 - Jughead

**Chp. 15 – Jughead.**

"Are you ready, Mr Jones?"

I blinked slowly. The question could have been directed at either myself or my father. We wore identical ashen expressions, mouths set in a hard line. Mary leaned over and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder that I couldn't even feel through the hastily ironed suit.

"You need to go and sit in the audience now, Jughead," she murmured with a mother's soothing. "You'll be called up to give your testimony when the judge is ready. Do you have your notes to go over?"

I nodded wordlessly, my fingers found the hastily scrawled words in the pocket of my smart creased jacket. I'd been up all night, pouring relentlessly over the facts. Every last word could be crucial to the case.

My father leaned down to roughly kiss the top of my unbrushed hair. I couldn't look him squarely in the eyes – terrified they would be devoid of any hope. If he wasn't positive, then what the hell was the point in raising my own?

I nodded numbly and scuttled down the walkway and past a pair of bored looking security guards, who eyed me with undiluted scrutiny. Balling my fists, I sank down into an empty row of seats and set them on my knees, clenching onto the matching trousers.

Stay in control, Jughead.

The audience soon began to filter in as the steady stream of townsfolk headed to their seats, chatting quietly amongst themselves as a man's life – literally was in the balance. I frowned, scanning the faces for people I knew. Rex had apologised profusely the night before – he didn't think it would help Dad's case if his old gang showed their faces. Besides, Cayden was still in bad shape and Stigma willingly tending to him.

I really was alone.

"I can't stand to see you like this." Her voice floated towards me as she perched precariously in the seat next to me. I could see the looks cast in our direction already. The esteemed daughter of one of Riverdale's power couples – with the son of an accessory to murder.

I knew she could hear the mutterings of disapproval in our direction, but her huge eyes didn't once leave mine and I couldn't help myself from giving her a small smile and taking her hand. Dad turned around in his seat to shoot a nod in her direction. She bowed her head and smiled back encouragingly. Behind her, Alice Cooper flashed me a curt nod and slid into the row behind us. No matter how much make up the woman wanted to wear – it wasn't hard to see the signs of a sleepless night on her face. Dad's expression flickered slightly when we caught sight of the lady Cooper.

More importantly; her daughter was literally an angel. What did I do to deserve this girl?

"You didn't have to come…" I began to murmur until she placed a finger to my lips.

"Jughead Jones – don't you dare even carry on with that sentence. I'm here because I want to be. And because I know FP is innocent. He was a pawn in Clifford's sick game." She shuddered. I didn't have to ask to know that she was reflecting back on the awful video.

"But look at the mess he left behind." I scowled. She squeezed my hand tighter.

The two security guards pulled the mahogany doors closed at the back of a room with a slam that reverberated around the court, halting all conversation. A small door at the front of the court revealed the silent members of the jury making their way to their seats. These faceless people who would be making judgement on a man they didn't even know.

"All rise. Court is now in session with Judge Rue presiding." A man bathed in dark clothes commanded the silent room as the door at the front of the courtroom swung open to reveal a portly older gentleman make his way over to his seat behind his huge bench. Betty rose effortlessly, pulling me with her. My legs were shaking uncontrollably.

Judge Rue settled himself down and nodded at the rest of the room. "Thank you, you may all be seated. We commence today's session: 'State versus Forsythe Pendleton Jones'. Is the prosecution ready?" He glanced down towards the pair of men in suits directly across the room from Dad and Mary.

They curtly nodded at the same time and shuffled their papers. "Yes, your honour." One of them said.

"Is the Defence also ready?" Judge Rue glanced to the opposite side where Mary nodded in reply, equally visibly confident.

"We are, your honour."

"Excellent," Rue boomed. "We now go to hear opening statements. Prosecution, if you may start please." He clasped his hands together and took out a small pair of spectacles that balanced just on the ridge of his crooked nose, waiting patiently.

The prosecution wasted no time and the man that spoke was already on his feet and addressing the jury. "Thank you your honour. We are here today representing the state and today you will hear a twisted tale of a grown man, who knowingly held up the police investigation of the tragic death of one of Riverdale's youngest and brightest," he paused, slipping a hand into his jacket pocket and paced up and down the jury stand. "This man – who knowingly helped the murderer bamboozle the town under his spell, prevented the time in which the police department could have apprehended the killer in a quicker fashion, before Mr. Clifford Blossom was allowed the time to kill himself. Today, we will prove that Mr. Forsythe Pendleton Jones actively withheld, destroyed and helped to cover up a murder of a young man, no less the same age as his own son." He gestured arrogantly in my direction as I felt the gaze of the jury else scan my face. My eyes moved downward to a deep crease on my knee.

"We are here today to ask that yourself, Judge Rue will find the defendant guilty and will received the suggested sentence that we submitted." Satisfied, the prosecutor resumed his seat with no more of a glance in my direction. My teeth gritted together with the realisation that he'd somehow twisted the story and made me an emotional manipulation pawn in his case.

"Thank you Mr. Evanson," Judge Rue gestured towards the other side of the room. "Would the defence also like to open, if you will please." 

"Certainly, your honour," Mary rose to her feet and strolled across the floor, deep in thought. "My name is Mary Andrews and I am here today to represent my defendant. Not only have I personally known Forsythe Pendleton Jones for a number of years, but I have also a son the same age as his own – and that of the late Jason Blossom," she turned to address the jury. "You will all have the opportunity today to hear how a persecuted and forgotten man, was led into a world of murder and misery in order to protect the life on his own son, who was threatened by the very same Mr. Clifford Blossom himself. Today, we will reflect together on the string of choices that were made by my client and the state of mind he was forced to maintain whilst doing something truly awful. We are here today to ask that the esteemed Judge Rue take this into account during sentencing." She bowed her head slightly and clicked across the wooden floor to Dad.

"Jesus Christ, I don't think I can do this." I whispered into my lap. I felt sick. My stomach churned unpleasantly. If I felt this bad, I couldn't imagine how my father felt.

"We can, together. I know you can do this, Jughead," Betty murmured soothingly. "Look – everyone is here rooting for FP." She nudged her head towards the back of the bowl-shaped room and I obediently followed her to find Archie staring back at me. Our eyes connected for a moment and he gave a small nod in greeting before turning them back to the front of the room. Next to him, Veronica, Cheryl and Kevin were glued to the Judge's words.

"Why is _Reggie_ here?" I murmured quietly.

The corner of Betty's mouth turned into a small smile. "We picked up another stray." 

My attention was grasped by the prosecutor – Mr Evanson suddenly rising from his seat and addressing the court. "Prosecution would like to call Mrs Blossom to the stand." A rumble of murmurs rang around the room.

My eyes flicked to Cheryl, she looked livid – but not shocked. It only just occurred to me that I hadn't even thought of looking at the witness list and seeing what poisonous demons the prosecution had drummed up for the case. Penelope was the tip of a blood corrupt iceburg.

Behind us in a rush of crimson, the familiar poisoning scent of maple syrup filled my nostrils – her typical perfume. She rushed up the aisle without so much as a look at anyone and filed past the two police guards onto the floor. Mother Blossom approached the witness stand, head held high – and swore the oath to tell nothing but the truth. Whipping her red cloak off to the side, she sank into the high-backed seat, gazing slowly around the room with the grace of a predator.

Evanson wandered across to the witness box with a swagger of a common thief, one hand resting in his pocket – clearly a signature dick move. "Would you mind please introducing yourself to the rest of the court?" 

Penelope swallowed, her mouth resting in a straight line. "My name is Penelope Blossom. I am-… _Was_ the mother of Jason Blossom." Whether it was actual human emotion boiling up inside or a show for the jury, Penelope actually _looked_ the appropriate amount of distressed as she should for such a statement.

Evanson nodded slowly, sympathy etched on his face as he watched the Jury. "Penelope Blossom is here today at my request for a chance of finally closing the door on her beloved son's murder. Unfortunately up until now – she has been unable to," He shot Dad and Mary a brief cold stare. "Mrs Blossom; in your own words can you describe what you're feeling and the effect this man has had on your family?" 

"Devastation," she spat without having to think. "Turmoil. My son is dead and yet I am left unable to rest night after night – imagining this foul piece of human flesh, soiling the very memory of my son as he floated to the bottom of the lake in a tarpaulin." She hissed with a venomous edge. Her eyes fell upon my father, who immediately looked down into his crossed hands in his lap.

The jury murdered amongst themselves for a moment. 

"She may be grieving; but she's a manipulative shrew." Betty muttered under her breath. She shot Cheryl another look over her shoulder.

"She'll milk this for everything it's worth." I whispered in agreement as Penelope brought out a blood red handkerchief from the breast pocket of her fitted black coat, dabbing the corner of her eyes.

Evanson sighed dramatically. "Not only has Mrs. Blossom lost a child, but she is resigned to knowing that the very man who'd prevented true justice, was walking around Riverdale a free man… Mrs Blossom, can you describe in your own words what the past year has emotionally done to you?" 

"After losing Jason," she dabbed her eyes again. "Everything was a mess. A big ghastly mess. The police department were as useless as a box of wet kittens. My daughter Cheryl was acting up at school and home-…" I caught the small hiss from the back of the room in response. "-… And my late husband walked around the town as if he'd done nothing wrong. My son's blood on his hands." She broke off and blew her nose into the cloth, taking gasping breaths.

"In addition to this, would you say that the silence of Mr. Jones also caused you undue stress?" Evanson pressed. "Piled on top of losing a son and a husband? Would you even go as far as to say that you think that Mr. Jones and Mr Blossom had planned the murder ahead of time together?"

"Objection," Mary shot to her feet, staring down the Judge. "Speculation. Mr Jones acted under duress." 

"I'll allow it," Judge Rue waved her complaint away with a weathered hand. "We need to hear the story from all sides. There is no real evidence that the defendant did not have prior dealings with Mr. Blossom."

"Agreed your honour," Mary pressed. "But the honourable Jury deserve to hear the facts before theories are brought to the equation-…"

"-… Which sounds like a flimsy defence in which holes can be picked in," Evanson cut across. "We are present here today to explore all avenues of what happened after the event of Jason Blossom's murder."

"That is quite enough," Judge Rue warned over the top of his thin glasses. "Do I need to call for a recess?" His grey sprinkled eyebrows furrowed from the prosecution over to the defence. Both shook their heads.

"Apologies, your honour," Evanson resumed. "Mrs. Blossom I will rephrase my question; did you have any indication or suspicion that your late husband was meeting with Mr. Jones at all? Without your knowing?" 

"No," she hissed, visibly blanching. "I had not the slightest idea that he was involved with drug pushing on the South Side, nor the scum he affiliated himself with."

"So it was out of character for Mr. Blossom?" 

"Murder and drugs? Yes, I'd say it was. The man could burn in hell for all I care." She held her head high, not at all phased by the mutterings around the room. I could feel Alice Cooper practically bouncing around in the row behind for her reporter's notebook – desperate to not miss a moment of the scandal.

"Mother," Betty hissed over her shoulder. "We're not here for _that_." She shot me a look of embarrassed apology.

"You may not be," she smirked. "But I will damn well make sure no on ever forgets that Penelope Blossom wishes that smug old bastard would _burn in hell_."

"He deserves to. He's the one putting us through all of this." I muttered. His face entered my mind, wearing his stupid piece of crap red wig. He was smirking in my mind's eye – knowing he'd gotten away with it and taken the coward's way out. I scowled.

"I was not aware of Clifford meeting with Jones," Penelope clarified. "He never kept records that were off the books. I was in the dark whilst my baby was killed and covered up." She choked.

"Indeed. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury – upon police investigation there was no footage, record or evidence of Mr. Jones being manipulated by Mr. Blossom. Though the late Mr. Blossom acted out of character; we cannot say for sure if Forsythe Pendleton Jones simply saw a deal go horribly wrong and decided to cry wolf. Mr. Jones is not without a police record, after all." 

"Objection," Mary once again rose to her feet, face flushed. "Relevance of previous record?"

"Retracted," Evanson's smile curled at the corner of his lips. "I merely ask that the honourable jury bear in mind, when taking the word of an infamous biker gang leader with previous drug connections." He nodded respectfully towards the judge and crossed the floor to resume his seat, where his co-prosecution companion began to share his scribbled notes.

"Would the defence like to cross examine the witness?" Rue cleared his throat. Mary rose to her feet slowly this time and stalked across the floor to the witness box, pasting a smile on her face. One that Penelope did not return.

"Mrs Blossom, you have previously confirmed that it was both you and Clifford that ran the maple syrup business together, yes?"

"Yes." She said slowly, drawn out.

Mary nodded. "Am I right to assume that you were somewhat involved in business deals and negotiations?"

"For the maple syrup only. I had no idea he was using the company to transport drugs." 

"Of course not," Mary agreed. "Within these business meetings with investors, buyers and your family members that have a share in the business; would you say that Clifford had a certain business influence over them?"

"What are you insinuating?" Penelope narrowed her beady eyes.

"I am merely suggesting that he had a way with words. In business most certainly. Your business reported a twelve percent increase last fiscal year in profit, mostly due down to one of the old farms closing down in Texas and moving production closer to the state," Mary glanced down at the notes in her hands as she scrutinised them. "By my research of the Texas Gazette – Mr. Garcia of Over Ridge Farm was against the move? He wrote to his local newspaper to report on the closure of the establishment and job losses?" 

"Mr Garcia was a fool," Penelope scoffed. "He didn't look at the situation from a business perspective."

Mary smiled and moved aside the papers in her hands to hold up the middle page of a newspaper to the jury. "Mr. Garcia as reported in the article dated on the 17th of March last year – told the reporter that he was to fight the production move to his very last breath. He was passionate about the local business, tourism and jobs and the effect it would have on the area…" She placed the newspaper in front of the head juror. "Yet by your businesses' records – Mr Garcia allowed the move to go ahead and placed his signature on the deed on the 21st March – four days after such a strong-willed article. Does that not seem strange to you, Mrs. Blossom?"

She shrugged, lips pursed together. "Perhaps he came to his senses."

"Or," Mary offered helpfully as she stepped closer. "Perhaps your late husband went down south to visit the farm on the 21st March and managed to leave the same day with the situation wrapped up. Which begs the question: How did Mr. Blossom convince Mr. Garcia to go against his morals, when he so strongly believed in them?" 

Penelope paused. "Clifford was…"

"As I suggested earlier, an influential conversationalist. Not long after the move took place and Clifford was able to move his drug business closer to home where he could keep an eye on it; Mr. Garcia lost his home to an unresolved debt," she glanced at Judge Rue. "I have yet been unable to contact him for comment or further clarification." 

"Your honour – what is the point of this cross examining when yet again; there is no official evidence?" Evanson stood, the cracks of annoyance beginning to shine through.

"Ah, but there is," Mary smiled evenly at her nemesis. "Your honour – in this folder you will find my account of an interview I conducted with Mr. Garcia's former housekeeper. She believes that she saw Mr. Blossom struggling with her employer in the library in which she confirms that she saw him struck with a blunt object in the side of the head and threatened with the safety of his wife, if he didn't choose to allow the move to go through. I have also included a USB with the unedited recording as well." Mary clacked over to the bench and handed him the pack with a triumphant twirl back to address the court. "I believe that with this, it clearly shows Mr. Blossom had a temper when things didn't go his way and was not above threatening harm on others when he felt it necessary."

"Very well," Judge Rue said. "We'll have this submitted as new evidence." 

"No further questions at this time." Mary dipped her head in a short bow and returned to her seat, where my father sat as white as a sheet.

The judge called for a short recess while the new evidence was analysed, so Betty took the opportunity to drag me outside into the courtyard.

"You need air," she'd insisted and pushed a bottle of water into my nose. "Drink." I hadn't had the heart to argue back with her and obeyed. We sat in a quiet bushed off area away from the rest of the members of the audience. The stone bench was cool and uncomfortable beneath the rough material of my smart trousers, but I barely felt it.

"That prosecutor is an ass, isn't he?" Someone announced and shattered the blissful silence of the nearby fountain. My head snapped up to see Reggie – of all people – stood before us in the flowered archway. He cocked his head and rolled his eyes.

"That's why they call them the _prosecution._ They're taught to be asses." I muttered and resumed staring at the cold pavement slabs beneath my feet. I wondered idly how Cayden was improving back at the Wyrm. No doubt they would text if something were wrong. I wished they had come along to support Dad. But the dark pit at the bottom of my stomach only knew that Rex was right – their attendance would have only fuelled the prosecution's case more. I dreaded to think what other witnesses from Dad's dark past, they could have dug up and parade in front of the town.

I could feel Reggie holding back a smartass comment – which must have been for both of our benefits because I would have happily punched him. He must have felt the hostility roll off me in waves because he didn't launch into a 'how are you feeling, Jughead' routine either.

"How is Cheryl?" Betty said lightly and turned her attention to her friend. "She didn't look happy through her mother's testimony."

Reggie snorted, folding his arms. "Are you kidding? The ice princess is practically back flipping at the thought of her mother raked over the goals in front of the entire town! She hates the woman. I totally don't blame her. Anyway I should get back, I only came over to see how… Everyone was doing." He gestured over his shoulder towards the direction of where I assumed the others were in the courtyard. His eyes flickered over to me and for a split second, a weird expression crossed his face before disappearing as he exited back through the archway and left us to our little secluded area.

"Reggie Mantle," I rose my eyebrows. "You replaced me with _Reggie Mantle_?"

She frowned and nudged my shoulder with her own. "Not _replaced_ you exactly, no – nothing can. Reggie's just been a great help over the past few months. Plus I think he's really fond of Josie." She gave a small smile.

"Maybe you need to fill me in on all the sordid details since I've been… Away." 

"Rolling around with snakes? You can count on that," she teased. "But don't worry about it now, you've got bigger things to face."

"You'll stay right?" I said, masking the desperation in my voice as I reached out for her hand. "Please stay with me tonight?" It probably sounded deep and pathetic. I didn't care.

She glanced down from our clasped hands on the stone bench and back to me again, nodding. "Of course. Whatever you need." 

"I need you every night, actually," I admitted. "I don't sleep well anymore."

"That can be arranged." A wide smile spread across her face. Her eyes twinkled with a mischief that only I know so well in her.

Hushed voices floated towards us and I felt the smile slip from my face. The voices sounded like they were having some kind of disagreement by the tone of the hissing. I frowned and stared towards the wall of well-trimmed shrubbery behind us. The voices came from behind it.

Holding a finger up to my mouth to indicate silence, I rose quietly from the stone bench and paces over to the shrubbery wall, pressing my head against the small sharp branches. There was movement next to me and Betty had done the same. To anyone who suddenly walked into our little secluded spot, we would have looked insane.

"… Really Rogers, you need to lighten up…" The two voices were clearly male, with one having an oily and confident tone – Evanson. What a slippery bastard.

"Oh really?" the other one challenged. Where his voice rose an octave, someone shushed him and silence fell for a few seconds.

"You need to stop worrying, "Evanson pressed. "We have him." 

"We have no proof that the boss is even _here_. Don't even look at me like that – we could literally be chasing our tails?"

"Some of us more than others," Evanson replied coolly. "The information was good. He's clearly guilty. The snakes have definitely had some involvement." The other voice scoffed at his arrogance.

"And what we if we send an innocent man away?" 

Evanson snorted. Even though the thickness of the greenery, it wasn't difficult to image the cruel curling on his lips upwards. "Then we have cut off the head of a snake. The rest will fall eventually, and we'll get some answers." 

"And if the boss isn't here?" His colleague demanded. "What'll we do then?"

"Even if he isn't here now – he definitely _was_. The trail went cold over Riverdale. We'll pick up on something and move on. Either way – FP is guilty, so we're effectively killing two birds with one big fat stone here." 

There was a pregnant pause. "They'll want us back in New York eventually." The second voice said by way of statement more than question. Evanson didn't reply.

"I think I may have found an ally," the prosecutor said finally. "He wants to return with us." 

"I didn't think you were into backwater hicks as personal pets?" The other man shot back a little too defensively. 

"This one has proved useful so far. Had experience that could be valuable-…" Evanson was cut off short as the sound of a bell rang out across the courtyard. The sound of heavy footsteps around the garden told me that court would be in session again in five minutes. The lowered hums of the slimy bastard and his companion disappeared as they exited their own little secluded area and followed the tree lined path back to the building.

I pulled away from the bushes and stared at Betty; who wore the same identical expression as me.

What the hell was going on?

"We should get back." She muttered, seeing my mind reeling. The girl knew me too well. I was a transparent book to her. I sighed and obediently followed back down the cobblestoned path, past the fountain and ascended the grey steps slowly, trying to make sense of what ever sordid conversation we were not meant to overhear.

Back in the courtroom, Evanson and Rogers had already resumed their seats – looking as if they'd spent the break talking idly about their wives and children. The answer was clear; they were deliberately hell bent on taking down my father no matter what the cost. And then they were coming for the serpents.

My teeth gnashed together. I fumbled around in my pocket for my phone. I needed to warn someone. Betty gently pressed her hands down on mine and softly nodded towards one of the security guards scanning the audience. His eyes landed on mine for a brief second, he stared coolly back at me before leaving my face to continue down the row.

"I have a bad feeling about this." Betty hummed quietly, nibbling on the corner of her lip. Her eyes flicked to the back of the room where the rest of the old gang were seated. I could even feel Alice behind us, shift her seat every few moments as she figeted.

"I thought you were here to support me?" I cracked in a whisper. She playfully nudged me.

Judge Rue cleared his throat and shuffled the documents in his hands. "Mrs. Andrews, who will you next be calling to the stand?"

Mary smiled widely. "I will be calling the defendant to the stand next your honour. Mr. Jones, if you would assume your place please?" She gestured towards the little gate with the witness box sat behind it. At once, I watched the blood drain out of my father's face as he stumbled to his feet and followed her finger. He looked less shaken up the day my mother left with Jellybean.

"… I swear nothing but the truth…" He gabbled through the pledge and threw himself down into the hard-backed wooden seat, staring across the courtroom at me. Eyes tight.

To my right, I caught a flash of black from the upper levels of the courtroom – but nothing seemed to be there.

Mary cleared her throat, looking thoughtful once more as she approached the stand with her arms wide and launched into the beginning of her speech. I barely managed to listen – catching another flash of black towards the ceiling once again. I narrowed my eyes at the mahogany high walkway that stretched the length of the room. There were named doors to little offices and rooms that were just out of sight from my position. I could have sworn that one of the smart polished doors had moved slightly in the windless room.

A sudden crack echoed around the room like a flash of lightning had broken through the wooden beams on the ceiling above. The sound was almost defeaning in the acoustics of the high walls and arched ceiling. Instinctively, I threw myself onto Betty and pulled us both down from the pew onto the cool surface on the floor.

There was another crack – coupled with screams and the sounds of people stumbling over themselves around us. Someone stood on my back to clamber over the rows towards the exit at the back of the room. Beneath me, my girl shook and we held tightly onto each other for a few seconds.

"Give her here-…" Archie appeared out of the crowd and crouched down on the other side of me and took Betty firmly into his arms. "Jug – your Dad!" His words were lost to the commotion – I had to stare at the new scratch on his face and decipher his mouth movements before my brain could catch up.

Oh god.

Heart hammering against my ribs, my eyes flew over to the front and I shot up from the floor – scanning around the room for my father through the sea of dark colours flying past me. There was a black figure atop of the high walkway staring down on us all like an angel of death. It was hard to miss the smoking glock from his gloved hand.

Time stood still as we regarding each other for a few moments. He took the pistol and disappeared into one of the upstairs offices.

Before I had time to think, I vaulted over the couple of rows in front of me and landed onto the courtroom floor itself. Although most people had run, a small crowd of court officials and police officers had flocked over to where my father was last seen.

"NO!" I felt myself scream as I made my way over the shiny floor towards the witness box. The jury and some of the staff in the back offices were filing towards me in a desperate attempt to flee. My roars melted with theirs as the crowd surged towards me like tidal wave of bodies. I kicked and fought my way through, shooting out of the mass to see my father sink to his knees, cradling his bleeding shoulder. He was staring straight at me with a horrified, frozen expression on his face.

The world melted away into nothingness and all sounds depleted into eerie silence. It was just he and I in this endless black abyss. My legs carried me to where he'd collapsed onto the floor in a streaming pool of his own blood. Choking back my anguish, I slid on my knees towards him and cradled his head in my lap.

"CALL AN AMBULANCE!" I screamed to the police who'd rushed to his side. They paused a split second before radioing in for reinforcements and a medical team.

"Dad…" I sobbed. "Dad, wake up. Please…" I slapped his cheeks gently in the hope that his expression would change. That his eyes would flutter open suddenly and make some inappropriate comment about how he was invincible, and nothing could take him down.

His face softened. Eyebrows no longer furrowed in confusion or pain. His head went completely slack in my hands. I couldn't help the deep sobs that rose from my chest and exploded out of my mouth like a volcano. The tears wouldn't stop. I didn't understand, didn't fully process what had just happened.


	16. 16 - Betty

**Chp. 16 – Betty.**

I hate hospitals.

Years ago when I was a child, I had managed to develop some kind of scary infection, serious enough that I had to spend a week in the children's ward. Someone had previously tried to cheer the place up a bit by painting Disney characters on the magnolia painted brick walls. But staring at a lopsided blob of a Dumbo night after night from my hospital own bed, was honestly enough to scar me for life. The smell of anti-bacterial solution coupled with an unidentifiable tang in the air was enough to set my teeth on edge.

Fast forward to ten years later and I was in the hospital again. But this time, it was FP Jones that would be the one staring at the magnolia brick walls.

There was a faint tingly numbness from my palms from the few hours I had been digging my French tipped nails into the fleshy skin – it was more to do with stress than anger. I needed a release from sitting and doing nothing but going slowly mad.

Jughead had been pacing for so long in the waiting room that he was soon going to wear a racetrack into the linoleum floor. There was no point in telling him to sit and rest – this was what he did when he was stressed. How could I exactly call the pot or kettle, black?

Next to me, my mother sat as still as a stone gargoyle – trashy magazine in hand that she didn't bother to open. I idly hoped it wasn't for beating the next Doctor over the head that entered – the next time one said they had no further news. The woman never looked so stressed. Her curled hair was out of place and ruffled with the signs of fingers being dragged through it several times. Her eyes were reddened – mostly from anger more than sadness.

"Your father is calling again." She said matter of factly, gazing down at the vibrating phone screen. I winced as her voice filled the silent room and settled on the empty walls.

"Maybe you should tell him where we are. He's at home with Polly with no idea what's going on, besides what he's seen on the news. He hasn't heard from either of us all day." I whispered quietly. Mother blanched slightly and nodded to indicate she'd be right back. Leaving her smart leather shoulder bag and jacket behind, she called him back and slipped out into the busy corridor.

On my other side, Jughead threw himself down into the plastic seat and sighed deeply. "Maybe I should call my own Mom and Jellybean. Let them know." 

I nodded. "Maybe that's for the best." 

He scowled. "If the damn woman would even answer – she didn't even reply to my goddam messages about the trial you know? Nothing. Not even a; 'How are you, Jug'?"

I fell silent, not even able to form together a sentence in my head that would even remotely help the situation. Jughead's home life was… unique. With all of his stories, it was hard to imagine the skinny raven-haired woman that decided to leave one day and take his younger sister with her. My family was dysfunctional in many ways. But they were _there._ It was more than could be said for his.

The sound of silence whooshed out of the little box room once more as a 6 foot something doctor entered the room, clipboard in hand. He closed the door behind him, cutting off the rest of the sounds of the hospital alive all around us.

Jughead scrambled to his feet. "My Dad?" He asked desperately. The doctor merely nodded and took a seat in one of the rows of chairs opposite us. A serious expression plastered his middle aged features.

"Mr Jones is in a bad way," he cleared his throat. "There is no denying that and we cannot speculate that he will pull through easily – especially without any lasting complications. If the ambulance has arrived any second later than it did, there was a real chance it could have been too late," the magnitude of his words hung heavily in the antiseptic air. I gulped. It sounded like it filled the room.

"Nevertheless," the doctor continued, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. "He is here now and receiving the best medical care in Riverdale. We are definitely far from being out of the woods and away from imminent danger, but he is certainly stable right now. He's a strong fighter, your father." 

Jughead swallowed, eyes growing shinier by the second. "Oh yeah, my old man is stubborn alright."

"I wouldn't expect any less from a Jones. I went to school with him on the South Side, years ago. We were never really friends – we ran in different social circles. But he's always been the strong character," the doctor smiled warmly, suddenly seeming so much less intimidating. "He is going to be staying with us for a little while so we can access the extent of the damage and arrange a care plan. Are you staying nearby?" 

Jughead paused, nibbling his lip. The Riverdale Town General was situated at the very top of the town, just bordering on the cusp of the next northern town, Wyvale. I furrowed my brow, struggling to work out how much time it would take for Jughead to walk from the trailer park, his foster home or the Wyrm. Too long.

The doctor read his expression. "It's better if you're closer if possible… Just in case our circumstances change and you are needed here…"

In case your father goes downhill, I finished off the sentence quietly in my head. "He can stay with us," I blurted out suddenly. "It's only a five-minute walk from the house."

Jughead glanced across with the most hopeful and touched expression I'd ever seen. He bit his lips and curled his warm palm over my hands. "Will it be too much trouble for you?" 

"Well of course we would be in separate bedrooms," I quipped. "But it should be fine. I'll tell Mom when she comes back in – she'll handle Polly and Dad."

"Then it's settled," the doctor arose to his feet and be obediently followed. "I'll be in touch with you, Mr Jones. For now, it may be worth getting home to rest for now. I'll update you if anything changes." He nodded and bade us goodbye.

Jughead exhaled loudly and stretched. The creases on his face smoothed out considerably to what they had been a few minutes before. He closed his eyes and I tucked my chin under his and wrapped my arms around his torso. He melted gratefully into me.

"Thank you." He whispered into the crown of my head. He inhaled the scent of my hair. Strawberry Surprise.

"No need to thank me. I'm just so glad that FP is still…"

"With us," he finished. "Yeah. Me too. I've been giving Archie all this shit for a long time – but today, I finally felt what he must have been like to be him," he breathed, juddering slightly. "I really thought I lost him, Betts." 

"Archie or FP?"

"God – both. I need to make this right." he pulled away from me slightly and pressed his lips to my forehead. My heart fluttered as he traced a trail down to my own lips and softly kissed me. Our arms wound around each other.

The elephant was in the room but neither of us wanted to break the peace of the moment to address it: How did this all fit into the prosecutor's secret conversation with his colleague? If my mind was whirling with conspiracy theories, Jughead's certainly was moving twice as fast as mine.

Nothing in Riverdale ever happened by sheer coincidence and as much as I was naive enough that I wanted to change perspective of the townsfolk – my speech hadn't made the impact I wanted it to. Events were continuing to happen despite the mayor and police department swearing that they would give these criminals no chance to operate on a zero-tolerance policy. So what do they do instead? They lean in on Jughead and the Serpents and brandish them as criminals to give the public a decent scapegoat.

It also didn't help that Chic had brandished CCTV photos of Fred's killer wearing what could be easily identified as a serpent belt. It was a detail that would shift the course of action if it became public. Jughead would be arrested and questioned along with his comrades.

I was also on borrowed time with my parents suddenly suggesting that we pick up our roots and start again in another town. There was no point in cornering my mother again, demanding to know the truth about the note. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that she flat out lied about it. I wouldn't get any help from her on this.

"I should get going. Let everyone know that FP is okay." I whispered into the warm scent of his chest.

"Not everyone," he mused. "We don't want someone returning with an AK for round 2."

"Inner circle only," I promised. "Are you going to be okay by yourself?"

He shrugged, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I've been doing it for years so it shouldn't change anything now. Besides, I don't think your mother will be leaving here anytime soon." He glanced towards the doorway and back to me. I leaned up and kissed his forehead, promising I would check in on him later.

My phone had very almost died but judging by the pink and blue hues of the star speckled sky, I assumed that it must be around dinner time. My stomach rumbled unpleasantly, the beast within reared its head and begged for food. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my smart jacket and set off in a brisk walk towards the only place I wanted comfort in town. It was a longer walk away than I had intended – but the brisk, chilly air hitting my reddened cheeks only convinced me that I needed the air after the days' events.

The sunset bathed the quiet roads in a sleepy hue as everyone returned to their homes for the evening. I wanted to avoid the main square and busier roads – in no mood to answer questions from nosey townsfolk wanting the latest gossip on FP. They didn't care before – so why now? The latest thought brought a small smile to my face – I was turning more and more into Jughead every day.

I turned the corner and approached the direction of the courthouse, from the darkness of the other side of the road. The place crawled with various cops parading the perimeter of the yellow tape that someone had erected around the building and gardens. Flashes of blue and red streaked across the night sky as one of Keller's deputies directed traffic down a quieter side road. That didn't stop the assortment of news trucks pulling up to the corner of the street, staff yanking open the doors to pull their equipment out and start filming.

"Can't wait to get out of this damn backwater town-.." One of them complained, adjusting the creases in her tight pencil skirt and matching suit jacket. The man who I assumed was the producer, shoved a microphone in her face.

He held up his hands and gave a thumbs up to the camera man. "We're on in 5…4…3…2…"

"Good evening, Kat Jenkins here," the woman smiled, revealing two perfect rows of white teeth. "This evening; we are in the _beautiful_ small town of Riverdale in which hasn't seen the end of it's troubles just yet. Behind me," she stood to the side and gestured. "You can see the aftermath of what can only be described as a complete shamble of what should have been an open and shut case. This very morning, began the trial of FP Jones who was due to stand against charges of obstructing the law and diminished responsibility. Jones had assisted in hiding the murder of popular local teenager – Jason Blossom, who you'll all remember was tragically-…" 

I couldn't stand to hear any more and quickened my pace past the news vans, racing past newscasters of all shapes, sizes and nationalities. I didn't realise I had broken into a run until I hit the road at the opposite end of the street and kept going. My flat shoes slapped the cold tarmac below, my breath appeared in tiny clouds as it streamed past. My body didn't want to stop until I caught sight of the safety of neon lights on the horizon.

Not that they were neon now however. They stood sadly against the pillowed cloud above, just as washed out. The only sign of life, was the shadow of someone bustling around the diner with a cardboard box.

I billowed through the soft tinkling of the door and migrated to sit on the nearest stool, struggling to breathe.

"Gee girl," someone chuckled. "What have you been running from?" Pop appeared from his back office, laden with box in hands and set it down behind the bar. It didn't take me long to notice that I was the only one in the diner.

"My god Pop – I never even knew it could get so empty!" I gasped, eyes scanning over the silent booths and cold record player in the corner. The corner of his eyes crinkled upwards with some humour, but the sparkle in his eyes was lost.

"I rarely open up actually," he sighed. "We recently got back from visiting some family across the country. I only really came in today to pack up some things before out big move to Maryland next month." 

"So you're really going then?" I mused and cocked my head. "I'm so sorry Pop, I know how much time and money you guys put into this place." 

He smiled, waving off the comment with a dark aged hand. "It's no skin off my back, girl. These things happen for a reason and as much as we don't want to leave and the kids are settled here – it's time for us to move on." He sighed, dark eyes moving around the rest of the empty room. They settled just for a few moments on his old vintage cash register. Whatever old thoughts and memories rushing through his head, he didn't share.

"I just can't believe you're selling up. This is your dream." I said gently. I had been to school with his children, my parents had gone to church with him and his wife. As long as I had been in Riverdale, Pop was one of the pinnacle pillars of our society. I couldn't believe within the same 12 months as every other awful thing that happened here, this was going to be another nail in the coffin.

"Sometimes dreams need to change," he said sagely, leaning on the counter. "I heard about FP – is Jughead okay?"

"He's about as good as anyone who watched their father get sh-…" I stopped the words tumbling out of my mouth and blushed heavily in embarrassment – mortified.

Pop nodded. "It's okay, I know what you meant."

"He's alive and doing well as far as we know. They haven't let us into see him yet but he's stable." My eyes flickered to the patch of floor that was once covered in a pool of blood – courtesy of Chic's security photos. "Hey Pop – do you remember what the killer was wearing that day?" 

His brow furrowed as my heart hammered softly. "I try my best to forget that man, but he still haunts me every time I close my eyes. Dark clothing I guess – jeans and a jacket. Now I'm not much on fashion, but it was the sort of clothing to make a person fade into the background and look inconspicuous."

"So no brands or anything visible," I pressed, detective skills whirling. "No key highlights that bounced out?" Like a serpent belt, I added mentally.

Pop chewed on the corner of his lips as he cast his mind back to that awful day Riverdale truly changed. A few moments later, he exhaled loudly. "I'm afraid not, Betty. Those olive green eyes were the clearest feature I remember."

It was hard to hide the disappointment on my face, but I nodded. "Thanks Pop. I'm sorry for having to ask." 

The corners of his eye crinkled as he smiled. "But it's nice to see you back in full swing again. I did wonder when you would be in here."

"Soon all of this will be some industrial site." I murmured and gazed around, trying to commit every neon fixture to memory. Pop signed beside me as he bustled around with the quietly bubbling coffee machine. Wordlessly, he poured just the right amount of milk and sugar in and gently slid the mug towards me. I smiled, taking a sip. I honestly couldn't even recall the last drink I consumed or the last meal I ate. After FP was attacked, the hours that followed were an absolute blur of the same words rolling around my head; "oh god, please don't let him lose his father too." 

"Well, when I run into Maryland's answer to Nancy Drew, I'll think of you, girly." He smiled toothily.

"You are kind, Pop. Do you really have to move?" I pressed, half teasing and half in pure desperation. There was way too much chance in Riverdale without even approaching the thought of everybody's grandfather packing up to leave.

"Yes," he said, sounding unsure. "There's nothing here but darkness." To accentuate his point, he waved a weathered arm to the empty, cold establishment around us where thousands of feet had passed through over the years. There was no mistaking the lack of purpose in his kind, tired eyes – he'd totally given up his on his dream and was ready to start another somewhere else. I realised that it was all my mother wanted to. To get away far from here.

"I guess that I shouldn't try and convince you then to stay and fight for a normalised Riverdale," I smiled. "But at least let us throw you a party or something before you leave? Jug will be crushed if you go without saying goodbye properly." 

"That'll be great," he nodded, chuckling. "I'll let you know when we have the moving date set. Say, how is your Mom doing? She didn't look well the other day?" A look of genuine concern crossed his face.

I furrowed my brow. "As far as I know, she's okay?" Or as far as she would tell me anyway.

He nodded slowly. "It must have been my imagination acting up, I saw her in one of those big coffee chains in the city – on my way to see my banker. The cashier handed her takeaway coffee, she took one look at the cup and pretty much fled. I thought maybe she's caught that sickness bug goin' around. Little Timmy's been suffering for a week now." He smiled to himself as he filled up our cups, talking about his youngest.

I smiled absentmindedly, thinking on what he'd just said. My mother had fled the coffee shop after looking at her cup? Sure enough in those bigger coffee chains, they seemed to have an obsession with writing names on the cups. I wondered if something else was written on there? I was s

ure as hell her reaction wasn't down to a hideously misspelled version of 'Alice'.

Saying goodbye to Pop, I figured that it was time to head home and charge my phone so I could get the good news about FP around the group. Pop's revelation about my mother was bothering me more than it should have – especially after her recent weird events. As far as I was aware; maybe she did have a sickness bug and needed to escape the coffee shop?

Channelling my boyfriend, I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared down at the pavement the entire way home – probably not the best of choice travelling in the inky blackness of night-time in Riverdale, but I was too wrapped up in my thoughts to care.

The rush of the cool night air did nothing at all to help with the beads of sweat appearing on my forehead – either from the effort of walking fast or stressing over my current predicaments and how the hell the life of a teenager could get so complicated? I struggled to remember the last time I handed in an assignment on time or even _did_ homework. I wondered idly what my perfect grades were now.

Before long, I turned into my street – illuminated by the floating orbs of the streetlamps and rushed up the driveway – ignoring the dent in the garage door that I still needed to somehow fix.

The house was bathed in darkness which was expected. Mother was probably still at the hospital pretending she didn't give a damn about FP and Polly would be out somewhere spreading her charming pregnancy hormones around innocent bystanders.

I scrambled for the key in my pocket, fingers fumbling with the lock. Pushing it open finally, I slipped inside and tried to swallow the permanent bad feeling at the back of my throat. I felt sick. But I couldn't explain why exactly.

There was no point in announcing my arrival to yet another night of an empty house, so I slipped out of my shoes and coat, leaving them by the rack at the side of the front door. I paused in my tracks suddenly, ears straining against the deafening roar of silence.

There it was again. A sound.

Kitchen?

I should have been scared – especially taking into account the number of people who have been targeted in Riverdale in the past year. But it was as if something snapped inside of me and dark Betty finally wanted to resurface and unite with Nancy Drew Betty for one night only. I scowled, seizing up Dad's huge gold umbrella from the duck shaped stand in the hallway and marched towards the direction of the kitchen.

Without hesitation, I kicked open the door with my socked foot and rose my makeshift weapon over my head.

There was a squeal – a feminine one and the kitchen suddenly flooded with light, momentarily blinding me. If there really was an intruder in the house, he would have no problem using this as an opportunity to tie me up or shoot me.

"Betty, can you tell me _what the hell_ are you doing?" My mother growled. Her clothes were covered in a dark brown stain from where I imagined it must have escaped from the mug in her hands, when she flew upwards from the breakfast bar in shock. She sighed, glancing down at the ruined rose gold dress and furiously dragged a wad of kitchen roll across it in a futile effort.

"Can you tell me why you're sitting in a dark house on your own? Where's Dad and Polly?" I challenged black, face flushing. "Jesus Mom – you can't be too careful these days! Next time there's a potential attacker – I'll just announce myself and hope they go away!" 

"Polly is making your father drop her off at a friend's house. But it's okay because if you do meet an attacker - perhaps you can trade stories of scaring the living crap out of people," she shot back. "I think you've ruined this dress. Thank you, Betty." She snarled. I got the sense that her heavy breathing wasn't totally due to my sudden entrance into her dark brooding time. As she continued to make a fuss of the fact that her dabbing at the dress was only making the stain worse, I caught sight of her face.

"You've been crying." I said. It wasn't a question and thankfully she didn't try to fight me on it. I caught the visible deflation in her shoulder blades.

"The coffee was hot you know. Those beautiful Colombian beans were expensive-.."

"No," I interrupted and abandoned the umbrella beside the kitchen door. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I wandered closer to the breakfast bar and wordlessly took the seat opposite from her. "It's more than that, isn't it Mom?"

"You're imagining things." She said flatly, still fussing with the stain.

"But I'm not," I said gently. "Am I?" 

She paused the dabbing in mid-air and slowly let her arms come to rest on the cool grey marbled surface. "I'm not sure what you want me to say, Betty." She muttered in the direction of the table.

"You don't need to say anything, I know there's something going on here – but I don't know what." I leaned back against the matching stool and watched her carefully. The kitchen groaned quietly in the background with the quiet hum of the dishwasher. It was a nice sound to break the awkward silence of what I hoped wasn't going to be a massive argument. 

"I'd forgotten we had our very own Sherlock Holmes gracing our house." My mother hissed under her breath. I shrugged, not bothering to take the bait.

"I care about you, Mom." I said slowly. The corners of her eyes crinkled with an emotion I couldn't read before disappearing completely. The gravity of Pop's words floated around my head again. It was hard to block out the look of genuine concern on his dark features.

"We need to talk," I continued, stretching out my fingers across the smooth marble and finding her own. "And you need to tell me what's going on. Don't even bother to start blaming your recent weird behaviour on FP Jones, either." 

She rolled her eyes. "I'm _your_ mother, Betty. You don't get to start making demands around here. I do, dear." She snatched her fingers away from me and gathered up the now empty mug, walking it back over to where the kettle has recently boiled. I tried to stop the burnt look on my face as much as possible.

"Then why did Pop Tate mention that he saw you about and about the other day? Why did you run out of the coffee shop so fast, Mom?" 

"Appointment," she shot back over the shoulder, leaning against the sink. "The editor of our sister publication in Greendale wanted a meeting. Shall I have my secretary forward my weekly schedule over to you for cross examination?"

"Only if it goes on to explain why you stared at the writing on your cup and bolted out of there." I threw my arms up in exasperation. This was going to be just as difficult as imagined.

"Betty," her manicured hand slammed against the marble counter. The intensity of the slapping sound hurt my ears. "That is enough. Do you understand me?" Her eyes narrowed into slits and I could feel the danger reach me from across the kitchen. The hostility was rolling off the woman in waves and even standing feet away in a coffee stained dress – even dark Betty wanted to retreat inside and hide somewhere.

But she was emotional and angry. Which meant that she was close to slipping up. I could see her shaking ever so slightly from across the room.

Changing tactic, I rose from my stool – palms outstretched in an I-come-in-peace sort of way. "I'm not trying to start anything, Mom. I want to help. I've also had a pretty crappy day." 

She snorted. "You don't even know the half of it, Elizabeth." There was a note of exhaustion in her voice and it broke ever so slightly. I boldly moved up next to her and leaned against the counter. I noticed that something had really shaken her strong façade. Her hair was out of place and not up to its usual Desperate Housewife standard. Her manicured nails hadn't been looked after in a while. She looked worse than she did earlier at the hospital.

"Mom, is someone trying to blackmail you or something?" I said seriously. "First the note you tried to hide.. And then the coffee shop cup.." 

"Just a pathetic prankster probably." She said quietly, staring down at the congealed dishes of breakfast in the sink. I noted that she hadn't thought to put them into the dishwasher with the other dirty dishes.

"Prankster or not – this seems to be bothering you. Have you tried telling the police?"

She snorted, her old self leaking into the conversation. "Oh please, yeah let me get Wonder Keller right on that! The fool can't even find a killer in _broad daylight_. For God's sake; a bunch of teenagers ended up solving Jason's murder!"

"I meant as more of a deterrent than anything else." 

She shook her head slowly. "He can't help with this. I don't think anyone can. I don't even fully understand what's going on." Wordlessly, she crossed the kitchen to seize open the pantry and grabbed something. Returning back to me, she thrust the object into my chest and resumed her stance over the sink.

Looking down, it was an old Starbucks cup all right. The scent of old coffee wafted up and hit my nostrils. I turned it over in my hands to find identical writing in the same scrawl as the one hastily bled across my mother's note. It simply read; "Mother of the year." 

I gestured to her in confusion. "Maybe it was a compliment?"

"From the acne-glad sixteen-year-old in Starbucks?" She glared at me. "I'd rather take the stalker." 

"Well it doesn't exactly say; 'I'm going to follow you until the end of time.'" My eyebrow knitted together. "I don't understand – is this a catty reference to Polly getting pregnant as a teenager? Or me in some way?" 

"Alone, it's a ridiculous prank. Together with the note, it's something more," she shrugged, self-consciously picking at her messy hair. "It's part of the reason I want to get out of this town, head to a place where no one knows us. Start again." Her bitten fingers rapped tunelessly on the side of the sink as she contemplated this. Moving across the country I thought was a bit drastic to escape such juvenile actions, but I understood her point.

I also had a sense of discomfort that I just couldn't swallow completely. 

Her phone rang from the breakfast bar – shattering through our mini argument. She turned to gaze at it on the table for a good few seconds before stalking across the room and snatching up the device.

"Hal." She muttered by way of greeting. She paused as his voice floated through the receiver and I watched as her eyes got wider and wider. Without saying goodbye, she hung up the phone and seized her jacket from the back of the stools.

"What's going on?" I asked.

She took a few moments to compose herself as she fumbled with the buttons of the Gucci Autumn coat, not quite getting them into the right holes. "It's Polly," she managed. "Her waters have broken."


	17. 17 - Jughead

**Chp. 17 – Jughead.**

"I'll ask you one more time; tell me what you know." I made sure to say the words slowly this time, so they didn't come out as a growl and cause me to repeat myself. The man struggled underneath my grasp, reminding me of a slippery rat just emerging from a sewer. He looked uncomfortable, which was what I was going for. I applied more pressure to my forearm as I pressed down lightly on the back of his neck. He blanched, the greasy hair falling over his face like wet tissue paper.

"I don't… Know…" He managed in gasps, eyes bulging. I got the sense he was being overly dramatic – I only had him in a very basic hold with barely any strength.

"I think you do," I pressed calmly. "You know every movement on the South Side. Nothing happens in this town without you being somehow notified or informed. I just need you to release what you know and I'll release you, it's simple really." 

"My… Jughead…. Jones has…. Snapped." Greasy chuckled from under my grip.

It was pushing 4am and Riverdale should have been sleepily dozing under the early morning darkness. It wasn't a party town by any means, but the country's media had descended onto the area and literally transformed it into a neon circus.

"Not quite yet," I smiled tightly. "Getting there." To the side of me, I could see Stigma roll her eyes and fold her arms in disapproval. Not at my particular methods but she hated wasting her time. She was keen to get back and overbear Cayden with her tough love – as she so called it.

"We need to move away from here." She muttered, scowling and throwing a glance over her shoulder at the mouth of the alley. We were fortunate enough that there wasn't enough natural light for anyone walking past to catch sight of us, but again this _was_ Riverdale. It was also strange to see the South American woman so jumpy at the movement of every shadow around us. Then again, could I even blame her? We were being hunted down and divided on the sly by the police. For all we knew, it may have even been one of Keller's deputies, who decided to take a shot as Cayden.

I sighed inwardly, not wanting her to see she was right. "Evanson and Rogers… Heard of them? They're the two prosecutors who I'm pretty damn sure – had something to do with my Dad." I pressed down lightly on Greasy one more time, who struggled underneath the weight of a seventeen-year-old teenager.

"FP Jones… Had… Enemies," the skinny man managed, mouth frothing slightly. "Who's to say… It wasn't… Someone else?"

"No," I said flatly. "I'm damn sure those two goons had something to do with it. They're looking for someone in Riverdale it seems. My dad was collateral." The last words came out with an air of bitterness. I wish I could have interrupted their secret conversation in the courthouse gardens. I could have kicked myself.

Stigma must have seen the signs of an inner battle on my face because she sighed and stepped forwards to elbow me out of the way. In one swift movement, she pushed our little rat friend against the cool brick wall of the alley behind him. He made a satisfying 'oof' sound at the collision.

"I am going to request of you one more time," she smiled grimly, eyes hardening. "The outsiders named Evanson and Rogers. Prosecutors. Do you know anything?" She gripped him by the shoulders with two sets of sharp manicured nails, judging by the aghast expression Greasy's face. He squirmed under hear unnaturally hard grasp and reminded me of a rodent trying to escape a trap. He scowled.

"Fine, fine," he wheezed and gestured for her to get off him. She moved back semi-triumphantly with an almost bored expression. "These two guys you seem to be obsessed with… They're both from New York. Run with a biker gang up there – The New York Spiders, I think?"

"Now that wasn't so hard was it?" I said cheerfully and clapped Greasy on the shoulders in congratulations. Stigma folded her freed arms across herself like a moody teenager. Our slippery friend took the opportunity to scuttle away into the darkness with a hiss, before we needed to extract any more information from the guy.

"And what is our next move?" My stoic comrade murmured as we began to make our way to the mouth of the alley. Everything smelled awful – weeks' worth of garbage had been dumped all around us as we picked our way through the piles of crap, taking care not to step in anything remotely rotting. I wondered if Mayor McCoy ever used these kind of photos for her Mayoral campaign?

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "I'm moving on hunches and instinct here." And what else was I to do? My body screamed with exhaustion from my previous sleepless night before the trial and I was pretty sure that I was running on nothing but energy drinks. I yawned, raking a hand through my hair. My father was shot 18 hours ago and I was no closer to finding a resolution.

"You need sleep," she glanced sideways at me. "I will go back and update Rex on our findings tonight." 

"If Dust is sniffing around – we'll be stronger in numbers." I muttered. We still hadn't had any confirmation that he was involved with anything yet. It was only a matter of time. I would squeeze every damn informant in the town if I needed to, for the truth.

Whether it was because she understood or didn't want to argue with a hot headed teen anymore, she fell silent next to me and didn't push the issue any further. My stomach rumbled loudly around the empty alley, but I ignored it and swallowed down the rising bile.

Emerging out onto the darkened streets, I could see the walls of police and new vans still spilling around the courthouse in the distance – each one fighting for the best spot in front of the huge stone steps to claim, in case there were any sudden developments. I doubted the assassin would stroll out of the mahogany entrance and give exclusives, but they were parasites. At least Alice Cooper would be one reporter that I was sure wouldn't be sniffing around tonight.

Pulling my beanie lower over my face, I shoved my hands in my pockets and began heading in the opposite direction of the dancing lights – praying to whatever God that no one would suddenly recognise me in the early hours of the morning and want an interview with the convict's son. Stigma followed, shooting glances over the back of her shoulders every so often.

"I do not like this. The police are out in full force tonight." At her words, we stopped to dive into the shadows of a nearby shop as the police car drifted quietly by. I immediately recognised he driver as one of Keller's junior deputies.

"They have nothing to go on." I pointed out, slipping out of the shadwos.

She scowled. "No concrete evidence. But they need a scapegoat for a high-volume crime they failed to foil, under their watch. They are plenty of red faces on the force right now."

I snorted. "Surely they can't come to the conclusion and spin a story that the Snakes tried to knock off their own leader?" I sideways glanced at her.

Her jaw hardened and her dark eyes flickered back to me. They were almost black in the lack of light. "'Notorious Biker Gang suspected for assassination attempt on previous leader!' It sounds like a good title for the media does it not? Keller is hailed as a hero for starting a movement that destroys independent groups in Riverdale by fear of criminal activity," she spat on the pavement in disgust. "I have been here before Jughead Jones. There are many similar battles in Mexico."

"But… It's a lie! There's no evidence, it's a flimsy accusation." I tried, lamely.

"Those are the words of a boy," she said flatly. "And it is time you really understood what is at stake here. Evanson and Rogers are aware of exactly what chaos they are creating. We are a rival gang in their way and they fear their own leader has met an untimely end. It will not be long before we are targeted by either those who call themselves Spiders or police," she paused. "I am sorry, Jughead Jones but that is the reality we are facing." 

"That's bullshit." But I knew she had a point. Even my own father would agree if he were here. I gulped, my throat burned. What would my Dad do?

Checking the backlight on my phone, I shuddered at the clock that screamed 4:12am staring back at me. My muscles were beginning to scream with exhaustion at every step as we crossed the border onto the South Side. I needed just a little bit longer.

Stigma silently took the lead, allowing me to be alone with my bleary thoughts as she led us through her intricate network of alleys and shortcuts. It was evident that as soon as we reached the bleak horizon of the South Side, that the police presence had already intensified. Squad cards quietly patrolled the roads like ghosts, looking for any sign of trouble. Or even innocent people, I couldn't help but think.

I breathed in the chilly morning air, pretty close to passing out on the pavement. Stigma swore repeatedly under her breath as we evaded yet another cruiser and dived into an overgrown line of bushes across the road. Swear words had now turned to cursing heavily in Spanish by the look on her face. Escaping from the bushes and moving down the side of an old long abandoned bowling alley, we emerged out onto familiar territory and dashed across the road to the Wyrm parking lot.

Stigma moved to the side of the building and held up a hand to stop me in my tracks. Her eyes scanned for any signs of life or police hidden in wait around the building or at the end of the road in the distance. She moved her gaze up to the office window of the Wyrm, Dust thankfully wasn't there.

Finding none, she jerked her head in the direction of the back of the brick building and I followed obediently. At the back of the Wyrm, was the private area that the gang used to store their bikes, which opened out into the back of the garage and allowed members to work easily on their bikes without having them on full show at the front. It was a small compound surrounded by planks of sharpened wood that adorned the back of the building and gave it a medieval castle effect. The entrance was almost completely obscured by a clump of trees and bushes at the back, which Stigma easily pushed out of the way with tanned muscled arms.

"You're both back!" Rex exclaimed as we quietly closed the gate and bolted it behind us. It was difficult to make out the tall man in the morning light, but I managed to locate him near the entrance of the garage, through a maze of silhouetted bikes. He stood up, flicking his cigarette into the nearest trash can as we approached. He looked just as equally tired as I felt and I wondered how many sleepless nights he'd had to endure.

"Come inside." He said gruffly and quickly scanned the quad behind us. We scrambled gratefully into the warmth of the garage as he pulled the hug steel shutters closed. Stigma pulled off her sleeveless leather jacket and tossed it onto the old couch in the corner and sank down on it. I helped myself to the seat next to her. The warmth of the garage against my cold skin caused a slight unpleasant itch on my cheeks.

Rex pulled out a flask of hot liquid and poured the beverage into the lid. He offered it to Stigma first, who smirked and thrust a thumb in my direction. "The boy needs that more than I do."

I was too tired to react to 'boy'. I took the lid of the flask and poured it down my throat, wincing at the burning feeling running down my oesophagus.

"Whiskey," Rex chuckled. The humour didn't meet his eyes. "That'll wake you up, lad. I heard about what happened to FP yesterday. I'm sorry you had to see it. He didn't deserve what happened to him."

I exhaled slowly, the feeling of loss filled me. Or almost loss. "Tell that to Riverdale PD. They didn't exactly do much to secure the situation."

"It is bad, Rex. Police are crawling everywhere." Stigma muttered quietly.

He nodded. "They were knocking on the doors late last night. As soon as we heard what happened here, I sent the others home. Told them to hide and keep a low profile for the time being." He took a swig of the whiskey directly from the flask and made a face.

"And where is Dust?" I demanded.

"Gone," was the reply. "Since yesterday evening. Said he had some business to take care of in Greendale. No one has heard of him since."

"Do I sense some animosity Rex?" Stigma grinned.

"Is that grass green?" He muttered. "Now is either one of you going to tell me why you're sneaking in here at half four in the morning?" He looked steadily between the both of us, patiently waiting for an explanation. The sunrise's first rays were just beginning to illuminate through the holes in the shutters and the one dusty window at the back of the room.

I sighed deeply, struggling to arrange the events of the last 24 hours into an order that would make sense. If Stigma was equally as drained – she hid it well. "I believe that my Dad was targeted and shot on purpose, but I can't figure out any definitive motive as there's so many possibilities. One of which includes Dust shooting him to take over the gang officially – another is Penelope Blossom hiring some kind of assassin! Each theory is both as ridiculous and equally possible as the last."

"I doubt the old witch has two dollars to rub together. Word on the street, is that she's broke and living in squalor with that girl of hers," Rex tapped his weathered cheeks. "The Dust theory is the most probable at this stage. But he was here all day yesterday – save for his evening trip."

"Dust is not the kind of man who gets his own hands dirty." Stigma said pointedly.

"That was my winning theory," I rushed on. "But there were two prosecutors at the trial named Evanson and Rogers – although I'm not sure if they are using aliases or not. They're both crooked in some way and I overheard them discussing what their next moves were. It appears if my father wasn't a main objective in their plans at all – but like they were going to use him for their own benefit in some way." 

Rex paused halfway through his next gulp of whiskey, his eyes bulged. "What do you mean?"

Stigma and I exchanged a quick glance. "Jughead called on me for help," she said quietly. "We went to pay Greasy Grey a visit." The hesitant eyes contact with Rex was ore than enough to signal to me that we'd done something wrong. Rex's eyes bulged for the second time – but this time it was more for anger than shock.

"I told you before. He is too dangerous to bargain with." He warned, eyes flashing at the woman next to me, who shuffled in her seat in shame. I wondered what went down before I joined the gang, to ignite such a reaction and cause her cheeks to flush.

"I am sorry. But our options were limited and it seems as if there is more going on behind the scenes than we understand-..."

"The little rat deals in secrets," Rex hissed. "You may have endangered us a lot more than you both realise." His eyes found me and I had to look away.

"It was not our intention," she shot back. "But this is bigger than ourselves and our pride at present. Jughead has said that these supposed prosecutors are from one of the New York gangs – The Spiders. They are on our territory, Rex. And they do not seem to mind at all."

"I should have brought down more whiskey," Rex muttered incredulously. "Go on."

"We have all heard of this gang in recent months," Stigma took point. "They are ruthless, they have more resources, more men and women, more influence. Even their initiation events are crueller."

"Rex – these guys have lost their leader suddenly and they have no idea where this guy is-…"

"Or lady." Stigma muttered.

"Right – they have no idea where this _person_ is. They have tracked he or she down to as far as Riverdale, where the trail goes cold. I overheard them talking about using the trial of my father basically to their advantage. What do you think will happen when they don't pick up the trail of their boss again anytime soon?" My chest heaved with stress. Rex looked between us, a troubled expression on his face.

"They call in the rest of the gang," he finished the question no one else wanted to answer. "Either to help with the search or destroy those who could have taken out their leader."

"And they will do this. They are strong as a unit and will not hesitate to kill. They make us look like children messing with plastic guns… Aww hell Rex, give me that damn flask already." Stigma seized the whiskey and downed the last remnants from the thing. Silence pressed down on the Serpent garage like a silent cloud of gas. I tried to come up with a solution or a possible route – but I came up with nothing I could do or suggest that would make the situation any better.

"We're in danger," I said finally. "All of us. And there's nothing we can do about it." I thought bitterly about my father's face when the bullet hit him from the upper gallery of the courtroom. I wondered if I would have a similar face when the Spiders arrived to gun us all down. Or Betty even.

Rex nodded slowly. "We are, that's about the gravity of it. For now, our concern is to make sure the gang stays safe and out of the grasp of the police or any Spiders that come visit. Anything else will need to be done in the shadows." 

"I will ask Cayden once again about the day he was shot at, see if he remembers anything more… And then I will get him out of town." Stigma said slowly.

"Get as many of the others out with you, we have a safehouse a few towns away – I'll text you the address," Rex turned to me, "I'm afraid we still have work here to do boy before we leave." 

"I'm not going," I said firmly. "I'm not leaving my father or Betty. Not until I get to the bottom of this."

The corner of Rex's mouth turned up into a brief whisper of a smile. "I fully expected you to say that. No – we're going hunting. Shake up some trees and see what falls out of it." I was too exhausted to prod any further into his plan and he knew it. Stigma wordlessly got to her feet and pulled on her jacket once again. She briefly nodded at us and disappeared back through the door into the quad to execute her end of the plan. 

"Do you remember what we discussed when you first joined the Serpents, Jughead?" Rex said quietly.

I nodded slowly. "You and the others vowed to help me find the man who murdered Fred Andrews." 

The corners of Rex's eyes wrinkled and he sagged slightly in his seat. "You have to understand kid, this now has to take precedence with us. We can't go on a wild goose hunt for a killer we haven't yet tracked down, or protect your girl's house anymore." He watched me carefully, a glint of shame in his eyes that he'd failed me on the only two things I ever requested from him.

Leaning forwards, my hands found each other and squeezed together gently. My mouth was dry. "I know." I whispered. Still, the reality hurt deeply. It wasn't something I could ask him to do anymore. Not when things were so messed up.

"I'm sorry, Jug," he said gruffly. "But we are now involved in a secret kind of warfare. Hell, maybe these attacks are even related somehow! But know this – Dust has been recently flapping his gums about starting to trade with some of the bigger gangs in the country and running drugs for them. I bet you, he has bigger plans than Clifford Blossom."

"And he has a lot less riding on this." I murmured, eyes narrowing.

Rex nodded. "This is not all a coincidence – I'm sure of that. We're in the shit, Jughead Jones." 

I woke up much later to the sound of birds singing – which I thought was pretty weird because birds never sang a so much as a note around the Cherub Trailer Park. I kept my eyes squeezed shut longer than I needed to, imagining what it would be like to wake up in a normal household with Jellybean playing quietly with her new dolls in her bedroom across the hall. My Dad would be humming tunelessly under his breath as he readied himself for work at the construction site with Fred. The scent of fresh pancakes wafting upwards from the kitchen downstairs.

It would have been such a perfect reality. A normal upbringing.

I grabbed my phone from the bedside table, blearily guarding my eyes against the sudden harsh glow in the darkened room. It was near 11am , which made sense due to the bright sunshine spilling through the curtains and across the immaculate cream floor.

My heart thudded quietly under the old bed shirt that Betty normally wore to bed. I scrolled through my phone contacts and selected one, pressing it hard to my ear before I had the chance to back out.

"Mom," I said after the beep. "Dad's been shot – I'm sure you've seen it on the news or something. Just thought I'd let you know that he's in hospital, alive. I'm not sure why it happened exactly, but I'm sure that's of no consequence to you, right? Hope you're not too disappointed or anything," I swallowed hard. "I've been thinking and maybe it's best that you guys don't bother coming back here after all of this blows over. Dad needs me and I'm pretty much all the family he needs right now. See you around Mom… Or not. Whatever." It felt damn good to end the voicemail. I'd said everything I needed to. The woman wasn't coming back and I needed to grow up and accept that. As Stigma had said in the early morning hours; I had the 'words of a boy'.

Perhaps as part of some sick cosmic joke, the phone began to ring and vibrate loudly in my hands. Betty's face lit up the screen. "Betts – sorry I was asleep."

"I could tell by the amount of times I've listened to your damn monotonous voice this morning," she teased. "Did you find everything okay? I got your message at 5:34am, might I add."

I gazed around the darkened room that was _not_ the spare bedroom that had been neatly prepared for me, but Betty's room herself. She'd have no trouble understanding that after I year I'd had so far, I needed to be lulled into a restful sleep in familiar surroundings. Not something I would ever willingly explain to Alice Cooper.

"Yeah, all good here." I managed.

"Good," she breathed, relief etching into her words. "Would you like to explain to me what you were out doing all of last night?"

I thought of the feel of my fingers wrapping around Greasy Grey's tiny throat. It would have been so easy to continue to take out my frustrations and anger on him, until he sang like a canary and gave up every little secret he knew. "I was… Just hashing out some ideas with the Serpents on what to do next. We're all pretty shaken after yesterday." And I wanted someone to pay. Painfully.

She paused for a moment, contemplating my words in a way I hoped she wouldn't grill me further. I wasn't sure the phone line would even be safe for us anymore. Who knew what resources the Spiders could employ?

"Your Dad's doing just fine. I've been checking up on him every few hours or so. Polly's still in labour with no signs of the twins arriving anytime soon, so I've had a lot of time on my hands. Nurse Gibbs thinks he'll wake up soon."

"And they just gave you that information without a family member present?"

"They gave Ms. Betrothed Jones an update," she corrected. "I spun a highly impressive story on the new junior nurse that we were engaged and you were rushing back halfway across the country to be here." I could hear the smirk over the phone.

"Were you planning on notifying me of our alleged wedding too?" 

"August 31st next year. Beach ceremony at sunset, fairly informal. Followed by a month travelling Europe," she didn't even skip a beat. "This isn't my first rodeo, Jones." 

"The speed at which you can lie both impresses and terrifies me," I smiled. "I'm heading over as soon as I get ready."

"Good, I'll see you soon. I love you, Jughead."

A smile tugged at my lips. Just as empty and lost as the one Rex flashed at me this morning. "I love you too, Betts."

Tossing the phone back onto the small table beside the bed, I allowed myself to sink back into the cold metal of the bed frame behind me and stared around at the bedroom that was not mine. The Jones family fantasy long gone.

"Be careful, Jones." Were the last words Rex has said to me before I left that morning.

An expression crossed had his face that I'd never seen take up root there before. Fear. Rex was worried what would happen to us all, now that we were up against the police, the Spiders, Northsiders, Dust's wrath and an unknown assassin to tie them all together.

Maybe I was scared too. Or I wanted to be. Mostly, it was the white hot anger that bubbled away quietly in the pit of my stomach; and that was what scared me most of all.


	18. 18 - Betty

**Chp. 18 – Betty.**

"Thanks." I said gratefully as the warm coffee cup was pressed against my cold palms. My companion nodded and took the hard leather seat beside me.

"What are you staring at?" He muttered. I didn't answer straight away, just continued to gaze across at the family sat parallel in the ICU waiting room, who had been there just as long as I had. A man, a woman and a dark haired baby between them. The woman's face was blotchy and tear stained, hand clutching her husband who was staring ahead into nothingness and the other holding the sleeping infant. I could hear it breathing sleepily from across the near silent waiting room.

The ICU doors swung open to reveal a lab coated doctor, automatically attracting every waiting eye in the room like a shining beacon of hope for news of loved ones. Catching sight of the family, he glided towards them in smart patented shoes that lightly padded the tiles. The small broken family jumped up to greet him, but his stoic expression didn't change. I watched as he shook his head and removed his wire framed glasses, murmuring hushed condolences. The staring eyes around the room now rushed to avert the private scene unfurling before them, as the family followed him back into the ward. As soon as the doors swung shut, the wails of the woman reverberated around the beige walls.

"Why do bad things happen to innocent people?" I murmured aloud and cradled the coffee cup in my hands. Beside me, Chic Hawkins shrugged nonchalantly and glugged on his own steaming cup.

"Sometimes people just deserve it. Even if they seem like the kindest people on earth," he glanced sideways. "Others are just rotten inside to the core."

I rolled my eyes, pushing down the darker side of myself from punching him. "Fantastic sentiment Chic. Why are you here again?" 

"A friend of mine is here," he grinned. "Idiot got himself into some trouble… Now he's paying for it. I'm just being a good model citizen." 

"I'm sorry about your friend, I'm surprised you wanted to stay in town though. I thought you were laying low?" I took a sip of the coffee, wincing as it burned my lips. But I was so thirsty that it didn't matter. The ICU family had shaken me more than I cared to admit.

"I guess I'm just trying to figure everything out myself," he replied quietly. "I've got a lot of options and a lot of possible paths to execute them. I'm waiting to see what would make me happy. As long as I keep a low profile, everything should be fine." It was difficult to read whether he was content with the decision to stay in town or not.

I nodded semi-listening. "I get that." Checking my silenced phone, I was greeted by various missed calls, voicemails and messages from friends – all asking for news and updates of what the hell was going on and if we were okay. I quickly shut off the phone and shoved it into the pockets of my jeans.

Beside me, I could feel Chic raise his eyebrows. "Something against modern technology?"

"Not exactly," I rolled my eyes, gazing across the room. "I just don't know what to say right now."

"Seems like you got a lot of people who want to hear from you." 

Choosing not to answer, I folded my arms and lapsed into silence. I didn't want to start anxiously digging my nails into my palms in front of Chic – but it was tempting. I felt terrible keeping everyone in the dark… But I honestly couldn't put into words how screwed up things were currently or what was going to happen next. It was all so messed up. Way beyond the means of what two seventeen-year-old teenagers could manage.

Beside me, the man pulled across his backpack and produced a party size bag of Cheetos, yanking it open. At once, the smell of processed cheese filled my nostrils. I became acutely aware of the glares and mutters in our direction from the others in the room, as the sound of chips broke their silence.

"You think you could eat those any quieter? Is that a _sandwich_ in your bag?" I was incredulous. "You packed a lunch? Here?"

He was the one who now rolled his eyes. "Hospitals take ages – like they do in the movies. I can't smoke in here, so I'll have to resort to degrading my health with calories instead. I like to express myself through food." He grinned boyishly in such a way that I almost smiled myself. Almost. I wanted to ask him what had happened recently to improve his mood from pre-apocalyptic to _this_ , but it seemed too personal for someone I didn't know that well.

"Express quieter." I managed and rubbed my temples with my free hand, balancing the coffee in the other. I hoped he wouldn't soon start another Diner Serpent Murderer conversation. Not here. Not now.

"You're the boss, Cooper," he conceded. "You didn't tell me why you're in here?" 

"My sister is having her babies," I said automatically. "It's been going on for about 14 hours now. I promised her I'd be here for emotional support." Or I had previously promised before she turned into a hormonal demon.

He nodded understandably. "So how's that going with you sat out here? In the wrong wing?" There was no grin this time, no boyish charm. All I could do was gape at the abrupt question, while my mind searched for a quick lie – anything.

Another reason for staying radio silent was that Jughead and I had quickly promised not to leak anything about FP to anyone. It was too dangerous until we learned who our enemies really were and what they wanted. What if the gun wielding maniac returned?

"They're keeping her in here, in case there are complications which are supposedly pretty common for twins. I had to come and sit out here because her yelling gave me a headache." I shrugged for effect and found my temples with my fingers once again. I wasn't that much of a creative liar, but he seemed appeased and returned back to the Cheetos for a few blissful silent moments.

"Heard about that FP Jones guy," he said conversationally. "Your boyfriend's Dad? This town never gets stale with drama. He was the leader of that motorcycle gang on the South Side wasn't he? The Serpents." 

" _Is,_ "I snapped without thinking. "I was there. It was terrible."

"Well, you never forget your first shooting. I'm sorry you had to see that." He sounded genuinely sombre and wisely opted not to make a back handed comment about Fred's supposed gang murderer. Nor did he decide to elude further on his comment. I didn't want to know.

The double doors flapped open once again and Nurse Gibbons appeared, holding them open and scanning the room for me.

"I'll see you later, Chic. Hope your friend feels better." I muttered and scrambled hastily to my feet. His hand suddenly wrapped around my wrist gently with a surprisingly strong grip. My head whipped around and he gazed at me, calm.

"Stay vigilant," he warned. "I've heard that the Snakes are on the verge of declaring war on the Northsiders. Maybe they'll come back and finish the job." He gave a small smile and released his grip, immediately digging into his sandwich. Robotically, I turned on my heels and proceeded to follow the nurse through the ICU entrance doors, not quite sure of what to make of Chic's loaded words.

"It was lovely of your brother to wait with you." Nurse Gibbons smiled warmly as she gestured for me to follow her down the immensely clean corridor that stretched before us.

"Not my brother, just… Someone I know." I muttered. The Northsiders versus Southsiders situation was common knowledge in Riverdale, but the way Chic had said it, made me cringe inside.

The nurse smiled absentmindedly, leading me quickly past private rooms with their beige blinds drawn. "When did you say that your fiancé was arriving in town?"

"This afternoon, soon I hope." 

"Well, it's great that you are here on his behalf," she nodded in approval, must have been a family woman I figured. Veering off to the left and pushing open a door numbered '2035', she held the door open and indicated for me to go inside. "He's currently resting at the moment and under heady anaesthesia. Similar to coma victims, he should be able to respond to your voice."

I paused. "Is it okay that I'm here when he's asleep?" 

She nodded slowly. "He's had a positive night and reacted well to the blood transfusion after the operation. There's a small sink by the door – disinfect your hands as soon as you get inside and that should help cut the risk of secondary infection. I'll just be down the hall at the nurses station, talking to the police officers about his condition – there's a red buzzer by the bed if you need assistance. I'm afraid I can only give you a short amount of time on your own with him." With one last smile, she swept away in her sky blue scrubs and clipboard, leaving me hovering awkwardly by the open door.

True to Nurse Gibbon's advice, I slipped inside and quickly thrust my hands under the sink near the door and doused them generously in antiseptic handwash.

The room itself was small and cosy like FP's trailer but holding none of his own personal touch to the place. Bathed in hues of white and mint green with a hint of medicinal antiseptic in the air, the walls were adorned with photos of calming landscape photography and inspirational quotes about changing a life. Turning things around for yourself.

The curtains were neatly set against the window, gently waving in the breeze of the heavy bars that lined them. With the rising bile in my stomach, I caught sight of the padded wrist cuffs by the bed and clocked on that this must be the hospital room that they use for convicts and prisoners.

It was logical, but it still made me sick to think of FP treated this way, even while in his condition. The man himself lay motionless on the bed with a variety of wires and tubes emerging from his heavily bandaged body. In the corner, a machine quietly hummed the thrumming of his heartbeat as he rested. I'd never seen my boyfriend's father look so vulnerable and small.

It was also extremely difficult to look at him – like I was intruding on a private moment that he didn't even realise we were sharing. I gulped and took the seat beside the bed, the crack of the gunshot filling my mind. The faces of horror around us in the courthouse. My mother's especially.

"Hi FP," I said quietly. "Hope you're feeling better than you did yesterday. Jughead is on his way over and he'll be here to see you soon," I dropped my voice. "Please be okay." I sighed deeply and dropped my gaze back down to the padded cuffs that lightly pinned his arms to the sides of the bed. When I glanced back upwards, I could see his eyes were both open – staring at me.

I jumped and swore under my breath as he did his best lop sided smirk. "Oh my god, have you been awake since I got in here?" 

"Maybe," he croaked, with the impression of smoking hundreds of cigarettes. "It was nice of you to come here… In Jughead's place."

"Of course Mr Jones. Although Nurse Gibbons had to help me get clearance to even visit." The kind middle aged woman had smiled at the time as if speaking to a couple of police officers about letting the teenage girlfriend visit her boyfriend's jailbird father, would be the easiest thing in the world. But the woman managed it. Ten minutes would have to be enough for now.

FP coughed lightly, wincing as if it took all of the energy out of him. He glared down at the wad of bandages that had packed the wound tightly shut. It was difficult to pretend not to see the disappointment in his eyes.

"I never wanted this life you know, Betty. Looks like it's catching up to me now," he breathed as deeply as his chest would allow. "And now my son is a goddam Serpent too. Alice had the right idea when she ran for the hills."

"She still cares about you, Mr Jones. She's been a mess." I toyed with explaining just how broken she has visibly been since yesterday morning, but I figured it wasn't my place to.

He paused for a moment. "I tried to turn things around. I even held meetings with that damn Mayor McCoy and old Keller. Thought maybe the Serpents could lend their skills for more town projects. Fred gave us all a chance as labourers and foremen… And then that damned Clifford Blossom got involved… And it all went to shit." He sighed bitterly, forcing his gaze over to the corner of the room with the heart rate monitor.

"The most important thing now, is that you rest and make sure you live, FP. Jughead's been… Well he's been Jughead," I didn't need to elaborate his teenage son for him any further – not until the million-dollar question was raised. "Do you… Remember anything that happened?"

He cleared his raspy throat and wheezed. I held out a plastic cup of water that was sat on the bedside table. He mumbled something and indicated down to the handcuffs on the bed that currently forced his wrists in the same position. I blushed, feeling his embarrassment and lifted the cup to his slightly raised head and slowly ushered the liquid in.

"I got shot," he said finally, nodding in thanks as I pulled the cup away. "Up in the gallery – some guy in a black balaclava. I didn't get a good enough look to see if I could recognise the body shape or the movement." He sniffed, choking on his own breaths. He couldn't stop the tears spilling down his face or even had the ability to wipe them away. "Jesus Betty… All I've done. It's all my fault. How can I even continue to be a father? Just look at me!" He shook the cuffs vigorously; the bed frame shook with anger and frustration along with him.

"It's not your fault FP," I muttered urgently and glanced towards the door – hoping the officers wouldn't jog down the hallway to investigate the sound. "Listen – there's something going on here and we need to figure out exactly what it is before _anything_ else happens." Something that was already in motion, I figured. My own mother was being emotionally tortured. Forced to run away and begin again.

FP must have caught the look of desperation in my eyes, as he closed his eyes in thought and reopened them a few minutes later. "The morning you and Jug came to see me about Fred Andrews," it was more of a statement than question. "I mentioned that Fred was behaving strangely that morning – which was true. I was way too broken up at the time, but he was more than being weird. He was totally out of it – barely registered where he was, what he was saying… I could tell something was really eating him up inside but I didn't press him further," he swore, scowling. "Maybe thing would have been different if-…."

"Don't even go there, FP!" I warned. Blame was a dangerous path and it was so easy to look back on those final days and think 'what if?' Truth was, we'd never know the outcome.

"Anyway," the man continued. "Fred kept muttering weird words like ' _we failed him'_ and ' _we made a mistake'_. Wouldn't give me any straight answers to anything."

"That doesn't sound like Fred." I nodded in agreement, brows furrowing.

"No. But I'm not convinced it was by sheer coincidence that he was murdered later that morning. I've spent so many nights sat in my cell, trying to connect the dots. But I don't get it. We fell apart for years – all that time wasted on bitter rivalry. For nothing." His eyes hardened, boring a hole in the spackled ceiling with obvious disappointment etched on his face. It hurt to see a cuffed man so broken down physically and emotionally, but I could only press on for as much information as possible. It was the only thing I could do now to try and save us all.

Chic's photos flashed before my eyes. Fred's motionless form in his own pool of blood.

I shuddered. "FP – do you know of anyone who's keen to get the Serpents off the streets?" I imagined the shooter's snake belt in my mind and tried to piece it together with anything I'd seen the gang wearing before. I was more than convinced that it was a pretty serious attempt at framing an innocent group of people. But I needed proof.

But why did Fred ay the ultimate price?

I swallowed down the image of Snake-Belt Man and the two crooked prosecutors smirking at each other across the courtroom. I pushed back the memory of Jughead covered in Cayden's dried blood, as he recollected his friend shot at by an unknown assailant. The image of my mother sat in our dark kitchen in silence.

FP had just endured something horrific and his ordeal was going to be far from over. His trial would resume as soon as he was fit to stand in court again and the circle would begin anew. I wasn't about to fill his head with more worries and uncertainties.

"Apart from the cops?" He chuckled. "The Blossoms would be most likely, I'd bet. I can't think of anyone else."

I smiled tightly, pushing down Dark Betty and her desire to gush about sordid conspiracy theories. "Probably a random psychopath who reads this sort of thing in the news and became too entangled."

"Maybe." He conceded, looking as restless and disturbed as I felt.

As soon as Jughead finally arrived and Nurse Gibbons managed to lead him successfully through the police entourage, I pecked him quickly on the cheek and left the two alone in privacy. Even knowing Jug was with his Dad, did little for my anxiety. It ate through me with every squeaky step towards the Maternity Ward. There was a feeling I couldn't shake and despite the hospital heaters flaring through the halls, I felt a cold chill in my bones.

"We're in danger, aren't we?" I whispered to my boyfriend as he had walked me to the door of room 2035.

"I think so," he had whispered back. "Stay out of trouble. Rex and I have a plan for our next move." He had kissed me quickly and wisely disappeared back into the room before I could launch my argument of leaving me out of things.

But I made a promise. I'd never abandon him again.

No one however seemed to need me as my father flung me the car keys to the station wagon across the private waiting room and announced that I may as well go home. The midwife had advised that twin births could take longer than usual and Polly hadn't reached the delivery room yet – Mom was nowhere to be seen, so I assumed she was trying to console a severely pissed off Polly that the babies had not arrived.

Wordlessly and obediently, I smiled tightly and took the keys from him and easily located the old car on the third floor of the hospital parking garage. As I moved towards the car, I felt like I was in another person's body as I climbed inside and started the engine. I couldn't even recall the ride itself – all a complete blur as the landscape drifted by. FP's tear stained face filled my mind.

As soon as I pulled into the driveway of the house, I sensed immediately that something was wrong.

Squinting my eyes against the evening gloom that has quickly set it on the ride over, I could see inky black splotches etched on the newly mended garage door. At first, I figured it might have been patches of rain that had spilled down from the old guttering above, but the residue looked too thick. Too shiny.

Frowning and now back in my own body, I pulled the car into the drive and angled it slightly so the beams would hit the door dead on. After a moment of being blinded by the immediate reflection, I could see exactly what the strange moisture was.

"Prepare yourself for judgement, behold the virgin Mary…" I muttered.

The words were painted roughly across the pristine shine of the metal. Where it had recently rained on and off during the day, the paint was bleeding downwards and soaking into the damp tarmac of the driveway. I stared in disbelief as the engine idled underneath me – the roaring in my ears was loud, unrelenting.

To the right of the garage, I caught sight of the giant pot of paint and brush used – cascaded to the side unceremoniously after the act was done. I had seen this particular can of paint before. It had spent the last 6 months by the larder in the kitchen after my father had finished using it to repaint the trim on the stairs.

My eyes flicked to the darkened house, still and silent.

I felt dirty and I couldn't fully explain why. There was an insatiable itch across my skin as I imagined my assailant breaking into the house to seize the paint from the kitchen. Breathing in our air, touching our possessions, taking in our home.

My eyes glided up to the window of my parent's bedroom, where I thought I had seen a slight movement of the curtains, in the non-existent breeze of the closed window.

I floored the pedals of the station wagon, throwing the thing into reverse as I shot out of the driveway – tiles protesting loudly against the road. At this point, I assumed that our neighbours had already had a lovely view of the artwork on the garage, so it wouldn't matter if I drew attention to myself now.

God, what would Archie say when he saw it and how did this fit in with everything else going on?

Questions hummed angrily around my head like angry bees as my heart hammered against my ribs. My breath short and wheezy. All I could do, was keep driving.


End file.
